The Happy Life
by lonelyriver
Summary: Yuuri always knew he was a little... dense. When it comes to girls and an unfair engagement, he's bound to make a few mistakes, but somehow there has to be a happy ending. EVENTUAL Yuuri/Wolfram On semi-hiatus.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Kyou Kara Maou or any of its characters.

**Beta-ed by:** G

**Warnings:** Language, references to minors having knowledge of sex (however, all instances of sex within take place between consenting individuals who are sixteen or older), sexual activity, heterosexual sex, homosexual sex, masturbation, novel spoilers, mixing of novel, manga and anime canon for my own benefit, blatant infidelity (I know, QQ), most likely some OOCness, violence, joking references to mpreg, maybe some voyeurism, probably a few others that I can't think of off of the top of my head.

**Pairings(s):** Yuuri/Hashimoto, various references to others (which may or may not actually occur), including Yuuri/Gisela, Elizabeth/Wolfram, and Yuuri/Lady Flynn, Yuuri/Elizabeth, Murata/many-girls-off-screen, Gwendal/Anissina, Yuuri/Sara, probably some Yuuri/OMC, and finally culminating in Yuuri/Wolfram.

**Setting:** Varies. Yuuri goes from sixteen to somewhere in his twenties throughout the progression of the story. So mid-series to long after the series ends.

**Rating:** M

**A/N:** Sorry for not working on all the other things I've left hanging, but all my WIP fics are so emotionally exhausting or just disappointing to me when I look back over them. So I wanted to break out and do something a tiny bit different and have a little fun with Yuuri (while still getting he and Wolfram together against all odds, since that seems to be the running theme).

That being said, I've not read the novels in the original Japanese, nor have I done a very thorough reading of some of the English translations various fans have so kindly provided to fandom, so I apologize if Hashimoto is OOC. Also, I'd apologize for Yuuri kind of being an asshole, but I'm really not sorry at all. I feel bad for the way Yuuri gets treated by fandom, so while his actions and behavior in this fic might not be entirely mature or ideal, I do hope the unfairness of his situation with Wolfram comes across a bit better here, because being engaged to someone you don't want to marry and having everyone else around you go along with it is neither easy nor fair for any of the parties involved.

* * *

><p><em><strong>The Happy Life<strong>_

by Mikage

**Part One**

By the time Yuuri had been king for an entire year, he'd come to accept certain things about himself that he supposed couldn't really be contested, though he'd tried many times to prove otherwise—namely, the fact that he was a bit… slow.

There were other words he could use to describe it. "Dim" was, perhaps, more polite, and certainly Gwendal's choice of phrasing, though Yuuri couldn't help but notice how easily his Chief Advisor could make such a small, seemingly harmless word sound like an insult when he was feeling especially cantankerous.

Yozak liked to joke that he was "uneducated," which seemed to suit the spy just fine, as it was a condition many people accused him of as well, being that he was both half-human and low-born and thus was expected to act like a barbarian (a stereotype that Yozak's bulky looks seemed to corroborate). Yuuri, of course, knew Yozak to be neither a barbarian nor uneducated, and though his friend and trusted spy may often attempt to promote the stereotype so as to encourage others to underestimate him (it certainly made Yozak's job easier when the people he was observing couldn't bother to see the muscle-brained, ginger-haired peasant as any sort of a threat) he was entirely capable of demonstrating public niceties and eating with the proper fork.

Or spork, as the case may be.

Additionally, despite how disastrously unconvincing Yozak may look in a dress—_how_ anyone could buy those disguises of his was beyond Yuuri—he could still pull off proper etiquette becoming of a lady which, Yuuri was both pleased and dismayed to admit (depending on the circumstance), he could never quite grasp himself.

Gunter liked to blame his lack of appropriate knowledge and experience on the fact that he'd been brought up on Earth. His tutor seemed to think that had Yuuri been raised in the Great Demon Kingdom, strictly under his tutelage (and Yuuri cringed to think of spending that long listening to Gunter's rambling lectures) he would have been able to master all aspects of society and governing in fifteen years. While Yuuri agreed that that might have been the case concerning customs and etiquette and social norms, he refused to believe that any amount of time was enough for him to learn all of the Great Demon Kingdom's four-thousand-year history—political or otherwise.

The fact that he was expected to learn the history and basic governmental practices of other countries on top of that only served to encourage his disbelief. Wolfram was over eighty years old, and even _he_ didn't know _everything_. Once, Yuuri had managed to completely stump him by asking him about King Tobias of the Burgundian kingdom.

Yuuri viewed this as a great accomplishment.

What Wolfram hadn't known but discovered later (because he apparently couldn't be satisfied with being without a clue and had endeavored to _look it up) _was that neither King Tobias nor the Kingdom of Burgundia were real. Yuuri had made them up, though he thought the situation still served to prove his point, as Wolfram had assumed they very much existed.

His fiancé also preferred the term "uneducated," often following it up with words like "vulgar" and "uncouth" and occasionally "vile" when he was feeling especially offended by Yuuri's dimwittedness. Other times, when Wolfram was feeling more childish and petty and throwing one of his notorious tantrums—usually in regards to the fact that Yuuri had dared to spare a glance at some random girl, or perhaps wasn't giving their engagement the attention Wolfram clearly felt it deserved—he chose to refer to him as "stupid," which tended to cause Yuuri a fair amount of distress, seeing as he didn't believe he was as stupid as Wolfram liked to pretend he was.

So what if he was a horrible dancer? So what if he didn't know who King Anathasios the Third was? Or where the Kingdom of Ulyciana was? So what if he would rather spend his time rolling around in the dirt hitting and chasing after baseballs than locked in his office with his nose stuck in a boring book?

He didn't think that made him _stupid_. It just meant he had other things in which he preferred to expend his energy.

Sometimes Conrad would say he was a "free spirit."

Yuuri liked this phrase much better.

But there were instances—and he truly hated to admit it—where Yuuri realized that some of the ways in which his friends and advisers chose to describe him were perhaps more accurate than he would like them to be. He was, in fact, quite slow in some areas of his life.

The most important of these was sex.

* * *

><p>There was no way for Yuuri to deny that he was, by no choice of his own, a late bloomer.<p>

He'd been rather small for most of his life. When he was very young, people had often mistaken him for a girl—though he was positive that this was only because his mother had insisted on _dressing _him like girl, a tragedy he also liked to blame for the fact that he was also, occasionally, slightly self-conscious. He'd been notably scrawny even in high school, despite hours and hours of baseball practice and sword training. Once, he'd tried ingesting more protein in the hopes that it would help to increase his muscle mass, and had seriously considered lifting weights, though he was often so busy, and his trips to and from worlds were, at that point, so sporadic, that he hadn't ever managed to follow a decent schedule, and his attempts either dwindled until he stopped trying, or else they failed miserably.

He would often find himself staring at tall and well-toned men with a fair bit of envy. He outright denied that this staring was in any way gay, as he was merely appreciating how aesthetically pleasing their bodies looked, _not_ salivating over their biceps and stellar abs and entertaining fantasies of a sexual nature. He didn't feel hot and bothered, he felt _jealous_. If he had any fantasies at all, it was only because he liked to envision himself looking like them. He wanted a well-defined chest and noticeable biceps and, damn it, he wanted a six-pack.

Yet it seemed nothing he did as a teenager ever worked.

He was only ever cheered by the knowledge that Wolfram and Murata were just as scrawny as he was, and between the three of them Yuuri liked to think that he was the most masculine, though he would never say this out loud for fear of incurring Wolfram's wrath.

How his fiancé could still manage to look so frightening in the sort of long, frilly pink nightgown Yuuri imagined to be popular with little old ladies was completely beyond Yuuri's ability to comprehend.

However, it was not merely Yuuri's physical development that seemed stunted, but also his interest in any and all forms of sex.

With an older brother who spent a majority of his spare time locked in a dark room playing dating Sims games, and with a mother who, as soon as he hit puberty, thought it was appropriate to discuss love and sex and relationships with him at random intervals—despite how embarrassed or tight-lipped he grew when either topic was brought up—one would think he could have rivaled the likes of Johnny Depp and lost his virginity at the tender age of thirteen.

Sadly—although Yuuri rather liked to think that the fact that he _hadn't_ should be celebrated—this was not the case.

It wasn't that he didn't know about sex. In fact, he knew quite a bit more than most people expected. It was all really rather basic, he thought. Both participating parties were aroused, usually through kissing and touching, though sometimes by means of such things as toys and porn. Then the penis went into the vagina. Or the anus. Or the mouth. Or it was stimulated by the hand. Or more toys. There was movement and friction and then there was cum, and if done unprotected with a girl in the vagina, that cum meant that it was likely that there could be, some nine months down the road, a baby. Condoms and other methods of contraception were, of course, used to prevent this, along with other unwanted conditions such as STDs.

Yuuri also knew that condoms came in a variety of forms. There were flavored condoms, ribbed condoms, extra-large condoms, and, for the truly adventurous (or just down-right weird) glow-in-the dark condoms. (Yuuri had to admit that while he thought these ones were highly unnecessary, he also thought they must be strangely cool. Who wouldn't want their dick to glow like a light-saber if given the chance?)

He wasn't a stranger to masturbation either. When one happened to walk into their older brother's room at the age of eleven and catch him toying with his dick, it was going to require a few explanations. After that, curiosity was bound to take hold—if not then, then a few years down the road. For Yuuri, this curiosity kept itself scarce until the age of fourteen, at which point he began to masturbate either whenever he felt the need or whenever it seemed convenient—and with the way his life turned upside-down a year later, it was hardly ever convenient.

Even still, he couldn't say he was especially _interested_ in sex. Kids at school talked about it, his brother obviously did it—and if he wasn't doing it with a real girl, he was at least jerking off to the computer image of a fake one while _thinking_ about a real girl—and the guys on his sandlot baseball team often cracked jokes and took their time checking out some of the girls who'd come by the lot to watch, or else discussed, in vivid detail, the activities in which they engaged with their respective girlfriends. If Yuuri took part in any of these conversations, it was only to laugh at the jokes and offer his congratulations—which was, of course, the appropriately manly thing to do.

Later, at home or back in the Great Demon Kingdom, Yuuri would think to himself how odd it was that most guys thought of sex as frequently as he thought about baseball, and that most guys viewed their sexual exploits as some sort of an achievement while he thought the homerun he'd hit in the bottom of the seventh inning was the greatest achievement of them all. In fact, in some ways the things they talked about were kind of gross—though it wasn't the act of sex itself that disturbed him so much as the fact that some of the guys seemed to have so little respect for their partners.

One would think that if they enjoyed it so much, they'd treat the other people involved in it better than they did.

In any case, Yuuri was only truly concerned by his lack of experience when Murata revealed to him that he had finally—after careful consideration and the selection of the perfect companion—lost his virginity. Murata who, like him, was scrawny, and who, unlike him, was a complete nerd (Yuuri insisted that enjoying historical dramas and occasionally referencing things from various sci-fi and/or fantasy books and films only made him _slightly_ nerdy, as opposed to Murata who made excellent grades and chose to wear glasses when Yuuri knew he owned contact lenses) had had sex with not one, but _two_ of the shrine maidens at the Great One's temple.

Two.

_At the same time_.

"And the first one did this?" he asked, unable to quell his sense of morbid curiosity.

"Uh huh," Murata said, his glasses flashing in the sunlight.

"And the other one did that?" Yuuri wondered, making vague hand-motions to reference which part of the event in question he was currently inquiring about.

"Yup!" Murata chirped, grinning a very self-satisfied grin.

Yuuri suddenly felt exceptionally inadequate, as if his masculinity had just taken a very harsh blow.

At that point, he was sixteen years old. He was still rather blasé when it came to thinking about sex, but after that conversation he was determined, no matter what the cost, to acquire an interest.

* * *

><p>Before that, the only thing that had ever truly dismayed Yuuri when it came to matters of attraction was that he'd never once had a girlfriend.<p>

Oh, sure, girls liked him well enough. He was always polite to them—and everyone else, for that matter—for fear of earning his parents' disappointment, and because he honestly thought it was the decent thing to do to treat a lady like a lady.

Unless she didn't want to be treated like a lady, in which case he had no idea what to do except treat her like "one of the guys," which typically had him feeling and therefore acting quite awkward, as "the guys" usually held discussions that were, as Wolfram would no doubt describe them, "offensively vulgar" and "altogether inappropriate."

The problem was that while girls tended to like him when it came to being friends, they didn't _like_ like him in the way one would expect a girlfriend to like their boyfriend.

All except one girl...

Although Yuuri had been so dense he hadn't even noticed until Murata had set them up.

Hashimoto Asami was one of his former junior high classmates, and an avid fan of tennis, which suited Yuuri just fine, as he'd attempted to talk to girls who had no interest in sports before and it had been embarrassingly difficult. They never quite understood his passion.

But Hashimoto understood as well as indulged him in his habit of endlessly talking about baseball, and would occasionally counter by expounding upon her affinity for tennis. She was pretty enough and polite and kind, and much easier to talk to than most girls, and if she wasn't as _beautiful_ or as incredibly _seductive_ as some of the women he'd met in the Great Demon Kingdom, it wasn't anything he thought of as a bad thing. In fact, he thought it was a good thing, because it meant their encounters tended to go much more smoothly.

Not only that, but she got bonus points for not asking too many questions. If he turned up looking inexplicably sad (and he had quite often during the beginning of their relationship, as Conrad had only just turned traitor), or if he happened to unintentionally let something weird slip, she would express her concern but never pushed it too far, or else she'd laugh his little oddities off and sometimes even find them strangely cute.

Which was more than a good thing. It was a very, _very_ good thing. Yuuri had to wonder if she'd run off screaming if she ever found out he'd been flushed down a toilet into an alternate world where he was the king of the demon race, and where he had also acquired a very pretty but undeniably male fiancé.

But since she never asked, he didn't have to tell her, which meant she didn't have to know and he'd never have to find out what her reaction may or may not have been.

Suddenly, Yuuri thought he was getting somewhere.

He got a bit further some time later, after they had been casually dating for a while and most things in the other world had settled down enough for him to feel less guilty about taking the time to enjoy himself while he was at home.

It was Murata's idea to invite her and a friend over to Yuuri's house one evening when both of his parents _and_ his older brother were conveniently (blessedly) not around. It was also Murata's idea for he and the friend to leave early (and Yuuri had no doubt what he and said friend intended to do, given that Murata had become something of a playboy since losing the Big V), leaving Yuuri and Hashimoto alone together in an otherwise empty house.

Yuuri, his thoughts still on Murata and Murata's nefarious (and probably slightly perverted) plans, meant to ask "Wanna watch a movie?" but instead it came out as "Wanna go up to my room?"

For a moment, Hashimoto looked completely bewildered, and Yuuri was on the verge of apologizing and making excuses for the slip when she shrugged and said, "Sure."

And just like that, they ended up in his room.

After he'd taken the time to tell her about each of his baseball posters and a few of the signed balls his dad had brought home from the United States, they finally—and with some encouragement from Hashimoto when it seemed he'd be distracted again—sat upon his bed.

Then there was kissing, and lots of it. Yuuri didn't mind kissing so much. It was actually sort of pleasant, in a way. He didn't even mind when the normal kissing turned into the kind with lots of tongue, even if it was sort of weird and slightly messier. He liked the little tingles it sent zipping through his body, and when Hashimoto made a few quiet noises that clearly indicated she was enjoying it, Yuuri was very pleased that his body began to react as it should have, though he was also a bit embarrassed by the thought of Hashimoto noticing the tent in his pants.

She did notice, of course. Their hands weren't exactly remaining still. At first, he was afraid she might be offended—weren't some girls offended by things like that?—but Hashimoto didn't seem to mind at all. Instead, she eagerly unzipped his pants and pushed both pants and boxers down his hips to free his erection, and then, without further ado, she wrapped her hand around it and began steadily stroking.

Yuuri immediately realized that having someone else jerk him off instead of jerking himself off was not only different, but somehow better. If he was still embarrassed, he could hardly think to act on it. He was much too distracted by how good Hashimoto's hand felt around his dick to worry about such unimportant things as embarrassment, and anyway _she_ wasn't embarrassed, so why should he be?

Pretty soon he figured he should probably do something to reciprocate, because even though she seemed to like the way he was mouthing at her breasts around the constrains of her bra, he thought his efforts to pleasure her were rather poor in comparison when one considered what she was doing for him. So he took a page out of her book and shoved a hand up her skirt, touching her through her panties before he decided they just got in the way, at which point he slipped his hand under those, too.

It was strange and wet, but he didn't dislike it. It was actually sort of hot, especially when she made more of those noises.

They continued on like that until Yuuri came. It was, he hated to admit, embarrassingly short, but true to form, Hashimoto didn't seem to mind, though that might have had something to do with the fact that once Yuuri recovered, he put all of his attention into what his hand was doing in her panties.

After Hashimoto had been satisfied, too, they laid half-sprawled across his narrow bed. They didn't cuddle, but simply lay beside one another, staring at the ceiling and regaining their breath. The only other sound was the ticking of the clock, and the occasional noise from traffic outside.

Eventually, Hashimoto turned to him, her cheeks still slightly pink. "We should do this again sometime," she said, quite matter-of-factly.

Yuuri—surprised, but by no means against the idea—simply shrugged and, miming her agreement earlier, said, "Sure."

* * *

><p>He came to realize many things during the exploration of his sexuality with Hashimoto.<p>

Firstly, he discovered that he was actually quite good at lying to Wolfram's face.

"There's something different," his fiancé observed one day in his office.

Yuuri sat behind his desk, riffling through a stack of papers in an attempt to find a certain document he'd seen earlier but must have misplaced between then and now. Wolfram stood in front of his desk with his arms crossed, staring at Yuuri down his prim, upturned nose. They were alone. Conrad had drills to attend to with the soldiers, Gunter was busy preparing for some banquet or another, and Gwendal had left some fifteen minutes ago upon hearing that Anissina was looking for him.

Yuuri was sure his Chief Adviser intended to hide.

"Huh?" he asked, setting the first stack of papers aside (messily) to look through the second.

"Are you even listening to me?" Wolfram asked. Yuuri didn't look up to see his face, but he could tell by the tone of his voice that Wolfram was frowning. He'd become quite good at predicting Wolfram's facial expressions by the sound of his voice.

Not that it was that difficult, as Wolfram never tried very hard to hide the foulness of his moods.

"Yeah, sure," Yuuri said.

Wolfram huffed. Out of the corner of his eye, Yuuri saw his hands uncross to prop themselves on his narrow hips.

"I said there's something different," he repeated.

"About what?" Yuuri absently asked.

"About _you_."

Yuuri let the second stack of papers fall back onto his desk when they yielded no better results than the first, deciding to give up for now as he leaned back in his chair to finally bring his attention to the other person in the room.

Wolfram had adopted one of his "I'm pissed off at you and definitely want you to know it" poses, which really weren't much different from his "I'm pissed off at you and _don't_ want you to know it but I have a hard time hiding it anyway" poses. Frown in place, hands on his hips, green eyes blazing, he looked ready to launch into one of his tantrums.

Not in the mood for an earful of his fiancé's displeasure, Yuuri pretended as if he had no idea what he was talking about—which, when he thought about it, was mostly true. There were so many things that set Wolfram off, it was easy to lose track of them all.

"What do you mean?" he asked, for lack of anything better to say.

"I mean that there's something _different_ about _you_," Wolfram said.

Yuuri simply stared at him. "Yeah. You kinda just said that."

Throwing his hands up in exasperation—which Yuuri thought was completely undeserved—Wolfram scoffed and began pacing back and forth in front of his desk.

"You're just... not the same. You're calmer, not as distracted. You're actually doing your work and not complaining about it."

"I thought that's what everyone wanted," Yuuri said, moderately confused by the observation and Wolfram's response to it. Shouldn't he be _happy_ about his new work ethic?

"Yes, but it isn't _you_!" Wolfram insisted.

"O-Okay…"

"It's not like you to be so responsible."

"Hey!" Yuuri countered. "I'm plenty responsible!"

"And you're not as…" Wolfram trailed off, apparently unable to find the appropriate word. He made a few strange gestures with his hands that Yuuri took to mean "spastic" and "off-the-wall."

He had to admit, his usual energetic behavior hadn't been as overpowering in recent weeks.

It helped that he'd recently acquired such a new and exciting method to expend his energy.

What Wolfram was currently unaware of—and would never know as long as he lived, if Yuuri had anything to say about it—was that Yuuri was having all manner of sex with a very lovely young woman, not right under his nose (as it, of course, did _not_ happen within the borders of the Great Demon Kingdom, or even anywhere in this world), but definitely behind his back. Yuuri found he rather enjoyed it. There were quite a few benefits, not least of which was indescribable pleasure. There was also the fact that his concentration had remarkably improved.

If Yuuri had known sex could lead to such a relief in stress and tension, he might have thought to try it sooner.

Well, provided he'd had a willing partner.

Who _wasn't_ Wolfram.

At first, he'd wondered if he should feel any sort of guilt over the fact that he was, in essence, _cheating_ on his fiancé, but after much soul searching and an hour's worth of internal conflict (he _did_ have other things to worry about, after all; he couldn't spend _all_ of his time on just the one thing), Yuuri had decided that just because he was engaged to Wolfram in the Great Demon Kingdom didn't mean he couldn't have a girlfriend on Earth. He'd also decided that Wolfram didn't have to know, and what he didn't know wasn't going to hurt him at all.

Besides, he wasn't gay.

He was pretty sure the fact that he was now having regular sex with a girl proved that well enough.

And anyway, how many times had he told Wolfram he liked girls? How many times had he told Wolfram that the engagement was an accident? How often had he offered to revoke it? What more did he have to do to prove to Wolfram that he _didn't want to get married_?

If he didn't do anything more to try and _break _the engagement except continue to protest or outright ignore it when Wolfram brought it up, and if he ever felt a tiny bit guilty upon returning to the Demon Kingdom after getting his dick sucked by his girlfriend only to see the "I'm very happy to see you but I'm not going to admit it" look on Wolfram's face, it was only because Wolfram was his friend and he didn't _really_ want to hurt him.

He just wanted to be able to check out girls—an occasionally get laid by them—in peace.

Therefore, even though Wolfram was suspicious, and even though his fiancé seemed as if he intended to figure out what the hell was wrong with him, Yuuri was able to keep a straight face and pretend as if he hadn't had his dick shoved up warm, wet female parts just the day before.

Another point for sex, as he could now thank his new found focus for his improved ability to lie his ass off.

"I just thought it might be a good idea for me to start taking things more seriously," he said with a shrug. "I don't have much longer until I finish school. After that, I'll be spending most of my time here, won't I? So I should get used to the idea before then."

He knew almost right away that he'd said the right thing. Wolfram stopped pacing to stare at him. First, he scrutinized him, perhaps looking for any sign that he wasn't telling the truth. When that proved fruitless, his mouth fell open and he gaped in shock. And, finally, when he realized that Yuuri could possibly be telling the truth (he sort of was; he _would_ be spending more time in the Great Demon Kingdom once he graduated), Wolfram's face broke out into one of his rare "I really like you but I'm not going to say it" smiles, which he only ever showed when Yuuri had done something to make him so happy he couldn't contain himself.

And which made Yuuri feel like a colossal jackass, come to think of it.

"Then we can start planning the wedding soon," Wolfram decided, all air of suspicion gone.

Yuuri tried to smile. He thought he managed it. At least his mouth twitched up on one side, and if there was a sudden odd tick in his brow, it was only because he'd spent the last few hours trying to read teeny, tiny demon print.

And because he really wanted to say that under no uncertain terms would they be planning a wedding.

_Ever._

But he couldn't, because then he'd just have his ass handed to him.

Or his balls ripped off and shoved down his throat.

"Right," he said instead. He glanced over the messy piles of papers on his desk. Inevitably, he pushed them aside and stood to his feet. "Well, I'm going to see if Conrad wants to play baseball."

And that was the end of it.

* * *

><p>The second thing Yuuri realized was that when he said he liked girls, he <em>meant<em> it.

Really, _really_ meant it.

It wasn't something he said because he was afraid of being gay (he wasn't afraid; he just _wasn't gay_), and it wasn't something he said because he thought that's what everyone expected, or because he thought that's what it meant to be "normal." After taking a journey down a toilet bowl, into a spiraling vortex that dumped him into an alternate world that seemed a bit like early modern Europe, and after becoming a king in this alternate world and learning magic and accidentally getting engaged to an irascible young man who just couldn't understand the meaning of "not interested," he'd stopped trying to think of his life as "normal."

He still thought he was average—or "common" as Wolfram would say—but definitely nowhere close to what most normal people would consider appropriately "normal."

But he liked girls.

Sleeping with Hashimoto meant he began to notice girls a lot more than he used to. Occasionally he'd find his eyes straying to one pretty female or another when he was out somewhere with Murata, and when a group of them came by the sandlot during a game he could appreciate their presence the same as his teammates did—though never so much that it distracted him from what he was doing, because baseball was still baseball and he liked it just as much as he liked seeing Hashimoto with her mouth between his thighs.

He told himself he didn't develop a "type" so much as a list of things he liked about girls that he could find attractive in any combination. He liked nice, modest girls, but he liked when they were confident, too—which was probably the most attractive thing about Hashimoto. It was true what they said: confidence was sexy. He didn't care so much about what they wore, though skirts were much more convenient than pants. He just didn't like them when they were too short. He had an imagination and he liked to use it, and the chance was lost with clothes that were too revealing.

Bust size was somewhat of an important factor to him. Large boobs were nice and all, but he'd had his face shoved into Lady Celi's a few too many times that he no longer found it appealing, especially since Lady Celi was his fiancé's mom, and he could honestly say that having his face planted in _his fiancé's mom's bosom—_whether or not he ever planned to marry Wolfram—was _not_ the sort of experience he thought he could enjoy, even if she was a hot older woman who looked barely over thirty. Now when he saw a large busted woman in a crowd, he invariably thought of Lady Celi.

It was an immediate turn off.

He much preferred the opposite—boobs he could cup his whole hand around.

"Anything else is a waste," he said to Murata one day.

His friend simply looked at him in amusement.

Yuuri was sure Murata was thinking he had no idea what he was talking about, but then Murata had never experienced the horror of Lady Celi's bosom.

Then again, Murata would probably like it.

He did his best not to look too closely at girls when he was in the Great Demon Kingdom, especially when Wolfram was around. His fiancé had the annoying talent of being able to follow the path of his eyes even in a room full of people. He didn't know how Wolfram did it—if it was some sort of sixth sense or if he was really that obvious about it—but Yuuri didn't look forward to the outbursts that would result from his staring, or the potential threat to his manhood (which was suddenly much more valuable to him now that it was being used for more than a piss and the occasional self-provided hand job). He kept his eyes firmly planted on other things in Wolfram's presence, like the table cloth or the napkin in his lap, which he used to hide his erection whenever he caught sight of a pretty girl out of the corner of his eye during a banquet.

When Wolfram was gone—on patrol or visiting his uncle or whatever else he did when he wasn't being a pain in Yuuri's ass—Yuuri took the chance to examine the many beautiful women who resided in his castle.

He kept his eyes far, far away from Lady Celi. Anissina, too. Sure, he supposed she was pretty, but she had the ability to strike fear into the hearts of men when she got a particular gleam in her eye. He heard Gwendal and Gunter commiserating over this quite often—though now that Yuuri understood the joys of sex, he was pretty sure Anissina would lay off Gwendal if he just dragged her into his room and let her ride him until there was no tomorrow.

Not that Yuuri liked thinking about his Chief Adviser having sex. It was sort of like thinking of his dad having sex, which was really the same as thinking of his mom having sex considering his mom and his dad had sex with each other.

And that was just gross.

Gisela, however, was fair game. Sure, it was kind of scary the way she could switch from sweet and supportive to authoritative and dominating in a matter of seconds, but once he looked passed that little inkling of fear he could see enough to find her attractive. She had a pretty face, of course, but mostly he liked her thighs. He rather liked the way a good portion of her weight was distributed to her lower half, making her curvier on the bottom than the top (though the size of her rack wasn't half bad either; not too big, but not too small).

Once, Yuuri caught himself imagining what it would be like to have those thighs around his waist while he fucked her against a hard stone wall. He almost felt bad for thinking it, considering he was in the middle of a lesson with Gunter at the time, and he didn't think his tutor would like the thought that Yuuri was fantasizing about his adopted daughter during a lecture about King what's-his-face the Fifth, but he couldn't really help it when he happened to glance out with window to see her drilling the soldiers with a ferocity that put Conrad—the greatest swordsman in the kingdom—to shame.

"Gisela's hot," he decided during another one of his conversations with Murata.

His friend smirked at him, as he did many times during these talks of theirs, but Yuuri could tell it was because he agreed with him this time.

"You should see if she's interested," Murata suggested.

"Nah," Yuuri said. "She's kinda scary, too."

"You think half the women in the kingdom are scary."

"That's because they could all slit my throat before I even realized it."

Murata made a "Mmm" noise, and drifted off into a fantasy Yuuri was sure he was better off not asking about.

Try as he might, after the fiasco that had occurred between them before, Yuuri could never quite rekindle his attraction toward Elizabeth. At least, not completely. She was incredibly pretty and actually very nice when she wasn't throwing a fit of possessive jealousy, but he couldn't look at her anymore without remembering that she and Wolfram used to be engaged, and then his mind would somehow bring up an image of Elizabeth and Wolfram making out.

That seemed inherently wrong somehow.

Probably because they were practically the same person in two different bodies.

"Have you ever kissed Elizabeth?" he asked one night when they were getting ready for bed.

Wolfram gave him one of his "what the fuck are you _smoking_?" looks.

"No," he said without a trace of hesitation (Yuuri was sure, then, that it was the truth). Wolfram paused a moment after that, staring suspiciously, and then asked, "Why?" with the sort of expression on his face that made it appear as if he were wondering if Yuuri had been jealous of the thought.

He hadn't been. He simply thought the idea was weird and wanted to make absolutely sure nothing of the sort had ever taken place.

"Just wondering," he said.

Then he rolled over and turned out the light, falling asleep to dreams of Hashimoto and Gisela pleasuring him at the same time (with Wolfram and Elizabeth looking on in abhorrent disgust).

* * *

><p>Yuuri's third realization came in regards to condoms.<p>

Glow-in-the-dark ones really _were_ kind of cool.

He tried them out one evening at Hashimoto's house, when her parents were away visiting one of her relatives. She sat against the pillows on her bed, laughing at him as he waved his latex covered dick around in the dark.

He made light saber noises as he did so.

It seemed a shame not to.

* * *

><p>Graduation, however, was quick to arrive. It seemed he was eighteen before he even realized it, and his last days as a carefree youth marked the end of Yuuri's relationship with Hashimoto.<p>

"It's been fun," she said on the evening of their last night together.

"Yeah," Yuuri replied.

They were at her house again, side by side in her bed, naked and slick with sweat and cum.

"We can try to keep in touch," she offered. "Maybe if we're both in town at the same time…"

Yuuri could tell she wasn't saying it because she was hopeful, or because she expected to have any lingering attachments to him. They liked one another well enough, but Yuuri knew he wasn't in love with her, just as he knew she wasn't in love with him. He didn't feel bad about these facts at all. It made things easier, really. He was sure they'd both be able to move on relatively quickly, even if they missed the convenience their relationship had provided them both.

"Sure," he said anyway, just to be polite (and because he really wouldn't mind it if circumstances allowed, though somehow he doubted they ever would).

"You're a good guy, Shibuya," Hashimoto told him. She turned her head to look at him with a smile, her hand lightly touching the back of his.

Yuuri gave a start, staring back at her with some surprise.

And a strange, nagging sense of guilt.

Sometimes, he wondered if he really _was_ such a good guy.

But he didn't say anything about it. They fucked once more, and then it was done. Hashimoto went off to college, and Yuuri, his duties and responsibilities beckoning him home, "went abroad" and returned to life in the Great Demon Kingdom.

* * *

><p>For a while, things returned to how they'd been before Hashimoto. Yuuri did his paperwork, he sat in his lessons with Gunter—with the occasional fantasy to ease his boredom—he attended parties and held meetings with his allies, and played baseball with Conrad to take the edge of. The only difference between before and after was that now he thought about sex much more frequently—perhaps not as frequently as other boys his age, as a fair bit of his mind continued to be occupied with baseball, but still more often than during the pre-Hashimoto period of his life.<p>

He simply wasn't _having_ sex.

He considered it occasionally, but even though there were plenty of beautiful women around—and even though he still liked to imagine what it would be like to tumble into one of the infirmary beds with Gisela—he found he wasn't interested enough in any of them to make the opportunity worth Wolfram's wrath.

He wondered if he might be missing Hashimoto after all.

When he decided he wasn't, he began to wonder if there was something wrong with him instead.

He couldn't be losing the drive already. Not naturally, at least. He was only eighteen!

In any case, he never had much of an opportunity to even _try_ to develop an interest in anyone else. When he wasn't doing paperwork and schmoozing at parties, he was doing his best to avoid a topic he'd spent much of his time on Earth trying to escape from.

Marriage.

With_ Wolfram_.

His fiancé plowed right into the planning almost as soon as Yuuri returned from his last night with Hashimoto. It was sort of scary to leave a girl he'd liked enough to give his virginity to but had no inclination to marry, only to come back to a guy he never would have considered giving his virginity to and _also_ had no inclination to marry, but who desperately seemed to want to marry _him_.

Often, Yuuri considered the unfairness of the world.

He thought it would have been easier if Wolfram was a girl. He'd have made a very pretty one. He was pretty enough as it was. He looked almost exactly like his mother, except his hips were narrower and his chest was notably flatter—and when he imagined Wolfram with Lady Celi's breasts, Yuuri decided that his mind was a sick, sick place to be and forced all thoughts of Wolfram as a girl out of his head.

No, no. He was much better off as a boy.

Instead of encouraging it, Yuuri reacted to Wolfram planning the wedding in the exact same manner he'd reacted to Wolfram insisting upon the engagement.

He argued. He denied it. He reminded him that it was an accident.

And when Wolfram insisted upon it anyway, Yuuri shut his mouth and simply pretended it wasn't happening.

"At least you'll get to have sex again," Murata said. He sounded cheerful, as if he delighted in Yuuri's misery.

He probably did.

"Except for the fact that I don't _want_ to have sex with Wolfram," Yuuri replied with a grimace.

"You'll have to, once you're married," Murata told him.

"Who says?"

"Custom," Murata answered. He voiced the revelation rather matter-of-factly, with a bit too much amusement for Yuuri's liking. "You'll have to publicly consummate it, you know. With von Voltaire and von Christ there. With all of the Aristocrats there, actually, so both of von Bielefeld's uncles, too."

Yuuri stared.

He stared for a very, very long time.

Then his face paled and he swallowed a lump that had lodged itself halfway down his throat.

"_What_?" he asked, his voice an octave higher than usual.

"Oh," Murata said with a sly grin. "No one told you?"

"_No_!"

And if Wolfram had mentioned it—though Yuuri was pretty sure he hadn't—he'd completely ignored him.

"Well, now you know!" Murata said. He sounded far, far too cheerful. With a broad grin and gleaming glasses, he clapped Yuuri on the shoulder before strolling off, whistling to himself as he went.

Yuuri stared after him.

If he thought he could drown himself in his private bath without unintentionally opening a vortex to Earth, he might have tried it.

* * *

><p>"Have you ever had sex?" Yuuri asked one night while he and his fiancé were in bed.<p>

He stared very determinedly at his hands, which he clasped in his lap. He and Wolfram sat side-by-side, propped up against the bed's many pillows with three feet of space between them (Yuuri was tempted to try for more). Wolfram was absorbed in a book and hardly seemed to notice that Yuuri was even speaking (which Yuuri thought was unfair considering Wolfram expected his undivided attention every time he opened his mouth). He didn't even answer until he'd flipped the page and finished the chapter.

"What?" he replied, unconcerned.

Yuuri took a moment to wonder whether or not this was a conversation he even wanted to have.

Now that he'd asked the question, though, he felt a spark of curiosity.

"Have you ever had sex?" he repeated.

Wolfram definitely heard him this time. When Yuuri chanced a glance at him out of the corner of his eye, he saw that his fiancé had tensed up, his shoulders stiff and his back very straight. Color suffused Wolfram's normally very pale face, starting in his cheeks and traveling out to the tips of his ears, before extending down his neck. The portion of his chest not covered by his nightgown became blotchy.

Either the answer was "no" and that embarrassed Wolfram, or Wolfram had a very interesting story to tell.

For some reason, Yuuri hoped the answer was "no."

He told himself it was because he didn't want the mental images that would no doubt come from hearing any interesting stories. It couldn't be anything more than that, because he didn't give a shit what Wolfram did otherwise. His fiancé probably expected him to care, but the truth was that Yuuri wouldn't be fazed if Wolfram was bending over for or fucking half the castle so long as he didn't have to either see it or hear about it.

Fiancé or not, if Wolfram wanted to be a lecherous manwhore like Murata, Yuuri didn't think it was any of his business to stop him.

After all, Yuuri'd just spent the last year and a half vigorously fucking his girlfriend on Earth. It would be rather hypocritical of him to disallow Wolfram from doing the same.

"What are you talking about?" Wolfram asked. He kept his gaze glued on the book, though Yuuri could tell he wasn't reading it anymore. His eyes weren't moving at all.

"Have you ever had sex?" Yuuri asked a third time. He allowed himself to sound a bit exasperated. He didn't usually have to repeat himself this much. Wolfram typically hung on his every word. Either that, or he talked over him so much Yuuri hardly ever had the chance to speak.

Slowly—very, very slowly—Wolfram turned his head to look at him. Yuuri considered looking away (it _was_ sort of an uncomfortable topic of conversation, and even though he was trying his best not to, the more the thought about it, the more he started getting disturbing images in his head), but he rather liked seeing Wolfram so obviously embarrassed. It was a good look for him, if only because it meant Yuuri was, for once, not that one feeling awkward and out of place.

"Why would you even ask that?" Wolfram said.

Yuuri suspected his fiancé was trying to avoid answering the question. He almost let him, because what Yuuri said next to try and weasel it out of him made him grimace and cringe to think that such a thing was actually coming from his mouth.

"Because we're going to have to have sex once we're married."

Wolfram stared at him for about as long as Yuuri had stared at Murata.

The silence was not altogether uncomfortable, though it could have been very easily (if it was for Yuuri, it was only because his statement had further cemented the horrifying images currently coalescing in his mind). Despite the fact that Yuuri didn't even want to consider what he'd just said, he was beginning to wonder if this was in fact that perfect way to get Wolfram to stop planning the wedding—make him so uncomfortable that he, like Yuuri, could hardly even bear to think of the expectations that would follow.

Because for all the bravado he showed when Gunter complained about him sleeping in Yuuri's room, and for all the times he'd snuck into Yuuri's bed wearing that ridiculous pink nightgown (or less), Wolfram now looked as if he wasn't any more inclined to think about having sex with Yuuri than Yuuri was to think about having sex with him.

"You remember the custom, right?" Yuuri prodded. He did his best not to grin. He didn't want it to seem as if he were enjoying this, even though he sort of really was. "You know… the thing about public consummation…?"

If it were possible, Wolfram's face turned an even darker shade of red. "Y-Yes…" he stuttered a response.

"You're okay with it?"

Wolfram's mouth opened and closed quite a few times before he managed to say anything. "I… I didn't… I didn't exactly consider it…"

"Oh," Yuuri said, trying to seem surprised. "Well, okay. I just wanted to know if you'd ever done it before. You know…" He paused dramatically before finishing, "… _sex_."

If Yuuri didn't know any better, he would have thought Wolfram looked slightly terrified.

Or perhaps it was mortification. For once, he couldn't really tell.

Whatever the case, he definitely saw Wolfram flinch.

"N-No…" his fiancé stuttered. His voice sounded very quiet and very small.

Yuuri didn't know if Wolfram was embarrassed or if it was something else, but he was beginning to realize why Murata found his discomfort so very amusing. He could barely keep his composure and stop himself from laughing at the utterly aghast look on Wolfram's face.

"Really?" he wondered, purposefully curious. "Never?"

"N-No…"

"Not once?"

"I said no!" Wolfram shouted. He tore his eyes away and stubbornly returned to his book, though he had no further success in reading it.

"Jeez," Yuuri said, stifling a chuckle behind a cough, which he covered by clearing his throat. "I thought you would have by now. I mean, you're what? Eighty-four now? Eighty-five?"

"Age has no bearing on sexual experience," Wolfram stubbornly insisted.

"Well, no. But, I mean, you're pretty, so there's bound to be plenty of people who'd want you. Another soldier… or maybe Elizabeth…"

Again, Yuuri thought how wrong that mental image was.

He was quite happy when Wolfram seemed to agree, if the paling of his face and the light tinge of green to his skin was any indication.

"I don't understand why you're even asking me about this," Wolfram said.

"Because you're planning our wedding, which means one day soon we'll be getting married, which means we'll have to consummate it and have sex, right?" Yuuri countered. The amount of pleasure he felt in having Wolfram off his guard was hard to describe. It was something like a mental hard on.

And it made the mental images relatively easy to ignore.

Wolfram said nothing.

"Come on," Yuuri wheedled. "You can't tell me you've never thought about it."

"You can't tell me you _have_," Wolfram argued.

"Of course I have," Yuuri lied. "What's so bad about us having sex?"

Wolfram clamped his mouth shut. He seemed to be trying to hold something back, but then Wolfram was never capable of holding anything back, and eventually he blurted out, "It's messy."

"So?"

"And uncomfortable."

"How would you know if you've never done it?"

"I can imagine."

"Imagining and doing are kind of different, Wolf."

"Well, it's embarrassing then."

"But you and I have been naked in the bath before."

"Yes, but… not like _that_."

"You mean like when we're horny?" Yuuri supplied. He didn't bother to hide his grin anymore, even if it meant Wolfram would know he was teasing him.

Wolfram, for his part, raised his book as if to shield his face, which steadily grew red again. "Must you be so vulgar?"

"How's it vulgar if it's natural?"

"Your crude language makes it vulgar."

"How am I being crude?"

"You're using inappropriate words."

"What? Horny?"

"Yuuri…" Wolfram said his name like a warning.

"What? That's too vulgar for you? That's not even the worst of it. There's 'dick' and 'cock' and 'cum' and 'fuck.'"

He could hardly believe he was even saying half of these things, but the sight of Wolfram growing more and more uncomfortable only served to further stimulate his mental hard on. If this kept up, he thought his brain might cum.

"_Yuuri_…" Wolfram said again.

"Come on, your mom has sex all the time."

That was the wrong thing to say. Wolfram suddenly slammed his book shut and threw it at him. It hit Yuuri squarely on the side of his head before flopping onto the mattress with a soft thud and a rustle of crumpling pages. As Yuuri rubbed the sudden soreness from his head, his fiancé threw himself out of the bed and stalked across the room.

"I am _not_ my mother!" he shouted.

He went into the washroom and slammed the door.

Yuuri stared, half confused, and half trying to stifle a raucous round of laughter.

* * *

><p>He should have expected Wolfram to eventually corner him and seek his revenge, but Yuuri had been too pleased with his success to think much about it, as Wolfram didn't mention the wedding again for an entire week. He should have known better. He'd left Wolfram a very clear opening. Wolfram wasn't one to miss things like that, no matter how embarrassed he may have been when the questioning had been directed toward him. Once he'd had a few days to collect himself, Wolfram retaliated.<p>

Yuuri, his confidence soaring, didn't even see it coming.

"Have _you_?"

They were in his office again. Yuuri sat behind his desk, hunched over as he carefully read through a steady stream of documents, page after page of warrants and petitions and legal nonsense that he could barely makes heads or tails of. Wolfram stood in front of him, so close his bony hips almost pressed against the edge of the desk, standing as tall as his slight stature would allow and staring imperiously down his nose, making Yuuri feel a bit as if he were on trial.

He probably was. He didn't know where Conrad or Gwendal or Gunter were, but the pointed gleam in Wolfram's eye made him suddenly miss their presence.

"Have I what?" he asked.

He went over the day's events in his head to make sure there hadn't been anything he was supposed to have done that he'd forgotten, but nothing came to mind. This was the first time he'd seen Wolfram since that morning when he'd left his fiancé snoring away in bed to go jogging with Conrad. Hours later, Wolfram had simply barged in his office to stand there, content to stare him down while Yuuri dutifully ignored him and tried to focus on his paperwork.

It was growing increasingly more difficult to do so, he realized. He could feel the buildup of stress and tension, and for the first time since the last time they'd seen one another, Yuuri thought he might miss Hashimoto.

It was as if Wolfram could read his thoughts.

"Have you," he began again, slowly grounding the question out through clenched teeth, "had sex?"

Yuuri's mouth fell open as he looked up at the infuriatingly pretty young man lording over him, feeling suitably lost for words.

His first instinct was to lie. He'd gotten rather good at lying. He should be able to do it now. But then he realized he'd already taken too long to say something. Not only that, but he'd questioned Wolfram with way too much ease and knowledge on the subject to be believably ignorant. Wolfram seemed to be thinking the exact same thing. He was starting to develop that all-knowing gleam in his eyes like he already knew the answer, and Yuuri felt well and truly fucked.

"Uhhh," he started, hastening for words that wouldn't come. He settled for widening his eyes and trying to smile innocently. "Y-yeah…?"

Wolfram's face went red. This time Yuuri knew it wasn't from embarrassment.

"What?" his fiancé seethed. His voice sounded dark and dangerous and Yuuri hands instinctively went to his lap to shield the family jewels.

"I… y-yeah… I mean… um… well… y-yeah…"

"You've had sex," Wolfram said. He wasn't asking anymore.

Yuuri released a nervous chuckle and nodded his head in agreement.

"And with whom have you had sex?"

Wolfram was trying to keep his voice low and even. Yuuri gulped in response. He knew this was far more dangerous than Wolfram immediately exploding, because it meant he was allowing his anger to twist around in a fiery pit and build into an inferno.

"Umm…" Yuuri tried to sound confident (he was the king, after all; he should be able to handle his own fiancé), but it was really very hard when Wolfram looked ready to murder him. "My… my girlfriend…?"

"_What_ girlfriend?"

"Uhh… the, uhhh… the one I had on Earth?"

"'Had'?" Wolfram jumped on the word, lifting his well-groomed brows. He seemed to settle somewhat. "This was before, then?"

"Uhh… before what?"

"Before we were engaged."

For a long moment, Yuuri struggled for something to say. He wanted to lie again, and a vigorous "yes" nearly leapt from the tip of his tongue, but he didn't feel confident enough to execute the ruse. He finally decided that honesty was the best policy in this situation. He didn't trust Wolfram not to ask Murata, and he didn't trust Murata not to tell the truth (purely for the entertainment value the resulting explosion would provide).

"Umm…" he began haltingly, "… n-no…"

"_No_?" Wolfram repeated. His eyes grew very narrow, his thin brows lowering back down, furrowing as his frown deepened. For once, Yuuri thought he could see a striking resemblance between his fiancé and Gwendal.

It was even more frightening than Wolfram's usual petulant glowers.

"N-No," Yuuri said again, swallowing down the nervous clog in his throat.

"When was it then?"

"It was… umm… well, we started… umm, dating… around the time that… er… I mean… back when all that… stuff… was going on with Conrad… and… yeah…"

Wolfram grew very still and very silent. The only sign of movement was his harsh breathing, his shoulders and chest lifting and expanding with increasing speed. In the brief calm before the inevitable storm, Yuuri could hear each ragged breath. Wolfram's nostrils flared. Yuuri watched Wolfram's face grow very white, even his lips, which pressed tight together in Wolfram's struggle to contain himself as he processed this revelation. He stood straight, his arms hanging by his sides. He seemed so shocked he wasn't even able to curl his shaking hands into fists.

Yuuri almost inched from his seat and made for the door. The faster he got out of there, the better. Unfortunately, his body didn't appear to be listening to the red alert his brain was giving. He remained rooted in his chair, staring up at Wolfram with a look that was half sheepish, half terrified.

Finally, Wolfram reacted. He pressed his shaking hands against the top of the desk, palms flat against the wood. Then he leaned very far over, placing his furiously pale face directly in front of Yuuri's, staring him straight in the eye. Yuuri kept his hands in his lap and gulped again, unable to look away.

In his nervous anxiety, he suddenly wondered if Wolfram could breathe fire. His breath was very hot on Yuuri's face.

"You…" Wolfram hissed, his voice unusually low, so much so that he barely sounded like himself anymore—cold while the rest of him steamed. "_You _are an adulterous _swine_."

Then he pushed himself away from the desk, turned on his heel, and walked stiffly toward the door. He left after nearly ripping it from its hinges, and slammed it closed with a force the rattled the windows behind Yuuri's desk.

Yuuri sat motionless and quiet, his eyes wide and trained on the spot where his fiancé had just been.

* * *

><p>In retrospect, he probably should have left Wolfram alone after that. Even at his angriest, once Wolfram had a sufficient amount of time to settle himself down, he could usually be coerced into having a mostly calm, somewhat mature conversation. It was simply a matter of allowing his rage to burn out before tackling the issue like the dignified young adults they were supposed to be.<p>

Unfortunately, Yuuri had rarely ever been dignified, nor were he and Wolfram as adult as they probably should have been by the ages of eighteen and eighty-five.

This left them with "young," and as all young people were, both Yuuri and Wolfram had the habit of being very impulsive and _very_ stupid.

After a few minutes of staring after Wolfram in the uncomfortable silence of his office, Yuuri managed to stand from his chair and head out the door. In his defense, he thought confronting the issue immediately was the right thing to do. Sadly, the right thing wasn't always the _best_ thing, nor did it always end pleasantly.

He caught up with Wolfram as his fiancé was stalking down the open hallway that surrounded one of the castle's inner courtyards. Yuuri had no idea where he was headed, though Wolfram seemed to have some destination in mind. He walked with purpose and ignored the smattering of people who'd come out to enjoy the scenery and pleasant weather.

Somewhere inside, Yuuri was sure it was a bad idea to have witnesses, but after Wolfram had ignored him calling his name three times, he couldn't find much of a reason to care.

"Wolfram!" he shouted after him again, picking up speed to stop him by grabbing onto one of his arms.

Wolfram turned and swiftly ripped himself away, glaring at Yuuri with so much anger it almost looked like hate. "_What_?" he snarled.

"Just… just wait a second," Yuuri tried. He dropped his hand back down when it was clear that Wolfram didn't want to be touched. He didn't think he had to restrain him anyway. His fiancé hadn't moved to run off again. "I… I'm sorry."

"You're _sorry_?" Wolfram scoffed. "And why are you _sorry_? Are you sorry you did it or sorry that I found out?"

"Sorry that… that you found out…"

As much as he would have liked to in order to save his own skin, Yuuri found that he couldn't lie in this situation. It seemed wrong to. He supposed it had been wrong of him to go behind Wolfram's back in the first place, but lying about it seemed worse than hiding it, even if they were, in effect, the same thing.

But he wasn't sorry that he'd done it. He wondered if he should be. He wondered if it made him a bad person to admit it, but it was true. He'd liked Hashimoto. He'd liked hanging out with her, he'd liked dating her, he'd liked kissing her, and he'd liked having sex with her. He'd liked being able to get away from the hectic, stressful life he had in the Great Demon Kingdom. He'd liked being able to do what he wanted with someone he enjoyed spending time with. He'd liked being young and being himself and having someone _like _him for it.

And he'd liked having sex. He'd liked having sex with a girl like Hashimoto. He'd liked escaping from Wolfram and the engagement. He'd liked being able to forget about it for a while. He'd liked experiencing things the way he thought he should—not because it was what people expected, not because it was what Wolfram said was right, but because it was what he _wanted_. He'd wanted to do it, pure and simple, and he hadn't cared that he'd cheated on Wolfram in the process.

He didn't care now. He cared that Wolfram was angry. He cared that Wolfram was upset. He cared that it might ruin their friendship, but he didn't care that he'd cheated. He only cared about the consequences, not the offense itself.

He couldn't tell by the look on Wolfram's face how his fiancé was handling the answer. Yuuri thought he saw his eyes spark again. In hindsight, it could very well have been a flash of tears held stubbornly at bay.

"You unfaithful prick!" Wolfram shouted. His hands lifted to Yuuri's chest and roughly pushed him back.

Yuuri stumbled a few steps but quickly regained his balance. His reaction was a confused conglomerate of feelings—shocked that Wolfram had uttered such a vulgar curse so loudly (he heard a few passers-by gasp in response), offended that Wolfram would actually _push_ him, and frustrated that he was being berated for this in the first place.

"How _dare_ you?" Wolfram continued, pushing at Yuuri with each emphasized word. "How _dare_ you do this to me?"

"I haven't done _anything_ to you!" Yuuri countered. His indignation and his frustrations over the engagement were beginning to rise, almost without warning.

"I'm your _fiancé_!" Wolfram bellowed over him. "Doesn't that mean_ anything_ to you?"

"I _told_ you!" Yuuri insisted. When it looked as if Wolfram was going to push at him again, Yuuri grabbed at his shoulders and shoved him back. "I _told_ you it was an accident!"

"Need I remind you that _you_ proposed to _me_?"

"What part of 'it was an accident' don't you understand?" Yuuri shot back. "I didn't slap you because I wanted to marry you! I slapped you because were a spoiled, selfish brat and a racist bitch!"

The harsh criticism gave Wolfram pause. He seemed to stumble and flinch back. The look on his face flickered briefly from enraged to stricken, before he was able to pull his anger back into place.

"You never retracted it," Wolfram tried. His voice shook. He knew as well as Yuuri did how weak the argument was, given all the times Yuuri had offered to do so.

"You never _let _me!"

Yuuri hadn't expected to start shouting. He'd expected a debate, but he'd thought the true heat of it would only come from one side. When he'd first gone after Wolfram, he hadn't expected his own frustrations would slip through. At some point in the last three years he'd spent fending Wolfram off, a crack must have formed in the wall he'd built up around all the negative feelings he had for his friend. For much of the previous two years, he'd been able to see Wolfram as the strong, honorable young man he'd matured into, but today, in this moment, he could only see the insufferable brat he'd slapped over dinner.

He'd had enough, finally. He was tired of the accusations, tired of being forced into something he hadn't agreed to, and tired of his life being controlled for him. He wanted out. He wanted it over with. He wanted the freedom to be able to live his life without the overbearing oppression of a fiancé who couldn't (or wouldn't) _understand_.

"_I'm_ not the one planning the wedding, Wolfram! I'm not the one with delusions in my head! You are so _blind_ you don't even realize that I don't _want_ this! I don't _want_ to be engaged to you! I don't _want_ to marry you! I slapped you because I couldn't _stand_ you! You're the one who suddenly decided it meant something, not me! I wanted to take it back! I kept telling you and everyone else, but you wouldn't even _listen _to me! What do I have to do to get it through your head?"

"You cheated on me…" Wolfram said. His voice was quiet, but he sounded no less angry. "You slept with someone-"

"I slept with someone because I _felt_ like it! It doesn't have anything to do with you!"

"It has _everything_ to do with me!"

"No, it doesn't! I would have slept with her even if we hadn't been engaged, Wolfram! I didn't do it thinking, 'Oh, hey, let's do this to piss Wolfram off.' I thought, 'Oh, hey, I've never had sex before. I like Hashimoto and she likes me, so why don't I do it with her and see what it's like?' I did it because I _wanted_ to have sex with her, not because I wanted to _spite_ you!"

"You should have thought about how it would make me feel!"

"I_ didn't_ think about you, Wolfram!" Yuuri shouted. "I didn't think about you at all, not until it was over, and then I decided I didn't care because you weren't there and I'm sick and tired of you trying to live my life for me!"

"That isn't what I'm doing!"

"It _is_ what you're doing! When in the last three years have I been able to do _anything_ without you harping at me for it?"

"This is completely different!"

"No, it isn't, Wolfram! It all comes down to the same thing! You think you can get your way if you just push hard enough! You think if you just ignore me and keep planning the wedding when I say I don't want to get married then maybe one day I'll magically change my mind!"

"That isn't-"

"_Don't_ deny it," Yuuri said. "You know it's true. You _know_ I don't want to marry you, but your pride won't let you admit it!"

"It doesn't have anything to do with my pride!"

"Of course it does!"

"_No_!" Wolfram cried. He looked as furious as ever, but Yuuri thought he could see something else beneath it, something just as strong but even more painful. "I want to marry you because I _love_ you!"

For a moment, Yuuri stood and stared. Wolfram's chest was heaving, his eyes were bright, and his face was flushed from screaming. There wasn't anything about his stance or his behavior that suggested he was lying, yet Yuuri found that he was unable to grasp the idea of Wolfram being in love with him. Perhaps it was because they were both so angry that love seemed like such a faraway thing. Perhaps it was because he didn't particularly _want_ Wolfram to be in love with him. It seemed odd and completely out of place, and the fact that he'd never even considered it before made Wolfram's proclamation all the more surprising.

Or perhaps he didn't want to believe it because it made him feel worse about rejecting him, and he was tired of having to worry about Wolfram's feelings on top of his own.

"That's so much crap, Wolfram," he said. It didn't come out sounding as confident as he'd wanted it to.

"You selfish bastard!" Wolfram swore. "What right do you have to tell me how I feel?"

"What right do you have to tell me who I can and can't have sex with?"

Wolfram's hand swung out before Yuuri's even realized it. One minute it was hanging down the length of his fiancé's body, and the next it was colliding with the side of Yuuri's face in a stinging slap. His head jerked to the left, his eyes wide first with shock, then with indignation.

Through his anger, in the moments before he retaliated, Yuuri had the sense to realize that it hadn't been the proper cheek to constitute a proposal. Wolfram hadn't struck him out of the desire he had to marry him. He'd struck him because Yuuri didn't share it.

His instincts screamed to strike back. That old impulse he'd always had to fight against oppression and unfairness rose up to rear its ugly head. He had a split second to decide whether he wanted to mimic the slap or respond in a different manner before catering to the anger and the irritation that spurred him on. Then his hand flung out, and his closed fist slammed into the side of his fiancé's face.

Wolfram gave a loud cry and stumbled, nearly collapsing against the stone bannister that separated the courtyard from the open walkway. He grabbed it to steady himself and looked at Yuuri as if he'd never quite seen him before. His eyes were impossibly wide and glistened wetly. His mouth fell open in shock. For a few seconds he actually looked vulnerable, young and small and _so_ hurt, but he covered it quickly, slamming the furious glare back onto his face.

Before Yuuri could even think to apologize, before he could even begin to feel anything but a keen sense of satisfaction, Wolfram launched himself at him.

Then it was an all-out brawl.

It could have ended in so many different ways. Wolfram, being the better swordsman, could have easily disarmed him if they'd had the sense to make a proper duel of it. Yuuri, on the other hand, had the stronger magic (by an outstanding degree), and could have extinguished Wolfram's fire with his water in a matter of seconds.

But without using such methods, they were more or less evenly matched. Wolfram had never had much training in hand-to-hand combat, and Yuuri had cared too much about baseball to be distracted by the martial arts. He might have a slight advantage in height and weight seeing as he'd aged three years since their first duel while Wolfram had barely grown at all, but Wolfram had the advantage of wild passion, and it made him vicious.

Yuuri restricted himself to punches, grabs, jabs, kicks, and rough shoving. Wolfram's manner was much the same, except that he scratched and bit when it seemed appropriate to do so. It was neither the neatest nor the most skilled of fights. Had either of them been able to think through their respective pain and rage, they might have had a bit more success in effectively pummeling each other.

It ended as quickly as it began. They'd taken a tumble together, sprawled out on the stone floor. Yuuri was seconds away from bearing his weight against Wolfram and forcing him down to deliver another sound punch to the face when he felt a pair of hands grab him from behind and hastily rip him away. Wolfram, sensing an opening, seemed ready to climb to his feet and throw him himself back into it, but he too was restrained, both of his arms jerked back and held in place by his much taller, much stronger older brother.

"You bastard!" Wolfram shrieked. At first, it was unclear whether he was talking to Yuuri or Gwendal, who struggled to hold him back. "You _bastard_! You lying, _cheating_ bastard! How dare you _do_ this to me? How _dare_ you?"

It didn't sound as if he were able to articulate much else. Yuuri couldn't think of anything to say in response. He didn't fight the restraining hands, or even so much as argue when Conrad began pulling him away. Instead, he simply glared at Wolfram, at his disheveled hair and his torn uniform and his bruised and bloodied face.

And for just a moment, so quickly he hardly even registered the feeling, he hated his fiancé. He hated everything about him—from his hair and his eyes to his voice and his clothes and the _stupid_ poof of lace he always wore at his throat.

Most of all, he hated that Wolfram could still look so beautiful when he was beaten and angry and forcing back tears.

"Screw you," Yuuri said, much too calmly for the situation, but he couldn't muster up the strength to make it sound worse.

He jerked away from Conrad and turned to march from the scene, ignoring the whispering of the maids, the startled looks he received from the soldiers, and Wolfram's voice screaming curses after him.

He didn't care to hear anymore.

He'd done enough.

* * *

><p>He ended up in the castle gardens, by a fountain and the flowerbed that housed Lady Celi's many breeds of flora. Conrad followed him. Out of the corner of his eye, Yuuri could see Murata trailing along as well. He ignored them even when Conrad tried to express some of the concern he wore openly on his face. As soon as he stood by the edge of the fountain, Yuuri leaned over it to dunk his head inside.<p>

The water was cool and peaceful around his aching head. He would have stayed under longer had it not been necessary to breathe.

Only when his lungs began to burn from lack of air did Yuuri resurface, supporting himself against the fountain ledge as he gasped and panted for breath. Conrad placed a steadying hand on his shoulder, but Yuuri shrugged it off and sunk down to his knees. He squeezed his eyes shut against the traitorous sting that suddenly overtook them. He didn't understand—when he was so tired and so angry and so desperate for it to be over—why it should hurt so much when it finally seemed that it was.

He supposed it was because he hadn't truly wanted it to end. No, he didn't want to marry Wolfram. He'd barely even wanted to be engaged to him, and had only shut up about it for so long because it'd seemed like the easiest thing to do. He realized now that he'd begun to think the same way Wolfram had—if he'd just ignored it long enough, if he'd just pretended not to hear what Wolfram was saying, maybe Wolfram would somehow change his mind and realize that this just wasn't meant to be.

But he hadn't wanted it to affect their friendship. He liked Wolfram, he trusted Wolfram, he needed Wolfram's guidance and companionship as much as he needed Conrad and Gwendal and Gunter and Murata. He liked that they could have fun together when they weren't being encumbered by the awkwardness and the stress that had encroached upon them due to the engagement. He liked that they had memories together, that they'd worked and grown and played together, that they'd built somewhat of a family together with Greta.

Yuuri liked the person being friends with Wolfram had encouraged him to become, just as he liked the person Wolfram had become in being friends with him.

But it wasn't enough. It wasn't enough for Wolfram that Yuuri just wanted to be friends, and it wasn't enough for Yuuri that Wolfram couldn't be satisfied with the way things were. They were two completely different people who wanted two completely different things. Wolfram wanted marriage, for whatever reason (Yuuri still wanted to say that it was mostly due to pride, even though there was a voice in his head that sounded suspiciously like Wolfram that told him it was due to love), and Yuuri wanted the time and the space to grow and _figure out_ what he wanted.

Because he realized now that he didn't have a clue. He had ideals. He had things he thought he would like, and things that he definitely did, but none of it seemed especially concrete. He couldn't imagine what the future would be. He didn't even know what sort of future he wanted outside of peace and prosperity for his people.

"Yuuri…" Conrad said his name instead of his title, proof enough of how concerned he was. Yuuri supposed he had every right to be. It wasn't every day that Conrad came across his king and his little brother attempting to beat each other's lights out.

Yuuri shook his head, crouched down by the fountain ledge with his forehead pressed to the edge of it, his hands tightly gripping the stone. Water dripped down his face from his soaking hair, dampening the shoulders of his jacket, but Yuuri ignored it. He didn't care. It was a good cover for whatever tears managed to slip free.

"Yuuri, what happened?" Conrad asked. His voice was soft and kind, but firm, too. It was as much as he would push the subject, though his tone still seemed to expect an answer.

"Wolfram and I got into a fight," Yuri said through an aching throat and a voice thick with emotion.

Conrad stood patiently by. "About…?" he encouraged.

Yuuri shook his head again, not because he didn't want to answer, but because it seemed like such a stupid thing to begin with. "He didn't like that I'd slept with a girl, and I didn't like that he kept pushing me about the engagement when I don't even want to get married."

If Conrad was in any way disappointed by what he was hearing about the two people in the world Yuuri suspected he cared most for, none of it was evident in the way he spoke. "You don't want to get married…" he observed. It sounded almost as if he felt guilty for it, not realizing how opposed Yuuri had truly been to it until now.

Yuuri wondered if his godfather would have done anything about it had he been aware that things had gotten to this point, but he decided it didn't matter now that it had already happened.

"No," Yuuri said. "I don't want to get married, and I'm tired of hearing about it and worrying about it and trying not to hurt Wolfram's feelings when I just… I just want to be me and like what I like and do what I want and not feel as if I'm disappointing everyone."

"No one's disappointed in you, Yuuri."

"Wolfram is."

"Wolfram…" Conrad trailed off in the middle of trying to think of something to say. Yuuri knew it was because he couldn't deny the argument. "Wolfram will come to understand, in time."

"Yeah, right," Yuuri said, sarcastic and disbelieving. "He's pissed."

"Once he's calmed down, he'll be able to think things through more logically."

"It doesn't _matter_," Yuuri insisted. He pushed himself up from the ground enough to turn and sit on the fountain ledge, lowering his head into his hands. "Nothing's going to change. He'll still be upset that I don't want to marry him, and I can't do anything to fix that."

"No, you can't," Conrad agreed.

"So then what the hell am I supposed to do?"

He waited, in silence disrupted only by the falling of the water in the fountain, for his godfather to provide an answer. When minutes passed without the comforting, supportive sound of Conrad's voice, Yuuri realized that there wasn't one.

So that was it then. He and Wolfram were through.

In some ways it was a relief. He could do what he wanted now. He could look at girls all he wanted and not have to worry about Wolfram's reaction. He could have a girlfriend on Earth or in the Great Demon Kingdom without Wolfram or the engagement getting in the way. He could sleep with whoever he wanted, whenever he wanted, wherever he wanted, and not have to worry about Wolfram's anger when he found out. He didn't have to worry about a wedding being planned without any input from him. He didn't have to worry about being married to someone he didn't want to spend the rest of his life with in that manner. He didn't have to worry about consummating the marriage with someone he had no desire to have sex with.

But none of those thoughts made him feel any better. Losing Wolfram and everything they'd had between them seemed too big of a price to pay.

One weight lifted from his shoulders, even as the heavy weight of loss settled somewhere deep in his chest.

The silence continued for a long time. Eventually, Yuuri was able to force away the burning in his eyes, and rubbed at his face to clear it of any lingering water or tears. He looked up at Conrad—and Murata, who'd said nothing, but who stood by watching curiously—and tried to force a smile that wobbled with pain and sadness.

"I'll be okay," he said. He was sure he would be, at some point, even if it didn't feel as if he would right now. "I just…"

"You both need time," Conrad supplied.

Yuuri nodded, hunched over with his hands dangling uselessly between his legs. "Yeah, I guess."

They sat again in silence. None of them knew what else there was to say. Finally, Yuuri took as much of a steadying breath as he could manage and forced himself up onto his feet. He ached all over and knew he must look horrible. He'd yet to assess how much damage Wolfram had done, but as neither of them had seen fit to hold anything back, he assumed he had quite a few scratches and bruises. Wolfram had looked bad when Yuuri'd left him; he couldn't look much better.

He glanced from Conrad and Murata to the water in the fountain, quickly considering his options before coming to a decision. "I'm gonna go to Earth for a little while," he said.

Conrad continued to frown in concern but didn't argue. "Alright…"

Yuuri felt a bit guilty for trying to escape again. He thought he should have found Wolfram and tried to apologize, but he wasn't sure how long it would take before he was actually able to face him. Wolfram probably wouldn't want to talk to him anyway, and Yuuri knew he couldn't just sit there waiting for one of them to get over it enough to start a conversation. He needed to get away to think, to let the hurt run its course so that he could accept whatever he and Wolfram would be to one another now.

He nodded again as if to agree with himself that this was the appropriate course of action, and lifted one of his feet onto the fountain ledge to prepare to make the jump between worlds.

A hand on his shoulder stopped him. Yuuri paused and turned back to face Murata. There was concern in his friend's dark eyes, behind the glasses that threatened to catch and reflect the light of the setting sun, but he had a grin on his face, too. Yuuri, far too familiar with Murata's antics by now, knew what was coming before Murata even said it.

"Shut up," he warned him.

"You don't even know what I was going to say," Murata replied. They both knew that wasn't true, and Murata's grin widened in amusement.

"Yes, I do, and it isn't funny," Yuuri said.

Murata snorted and patted him on the shoulder. Then he said it anyway. "You need to get laid, Shibuya."

Yuuri showed him an offended frown and shoved him away. He turned to the fountain without him, jumping into the water before Murata could decide to join him.

Out of the corner of his eye, just as the vortex opened as he descended into the water, Yuuri caught sight of Lady Celi's bed of flowers. Normally his attention was reserved for the blue flowers Lady Celi had bred to represent his godfather, but this time he noticed the yellow ones that looked, to Yuuri, something like a cross between an iris and a daffodil, and the others, just as yellow, but larger and stretching toward the sun.

The image stayed with him even as he disappeared and the garden was no longer in view, and he thought how sad his fiancé's flowers looked, drooping in the shadow of his own.

As the vortex swirled around him and carried him away, Yuuri remembered Hashimoto taking his hand and telling him that he was a good guy.

With the memories of Wolfram's stricken and bloodied face still fresh in his mind, Yuuri didn't think he was such a good guy anymore, nor did he know if he'd ever even been one in the first place.

**TBC…**


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Kyou Kara Maou or any of its characters.

**Beta-ed by:** G

**Warnings:** Overall, language, references to minors having knowledge of sex (however, all instances of sex within take place between consenting individuals who are sixteen or older), sexual activity, heterosexual sex, homosexual sex, masturbation, novel spoilers, mixing of novel, manga and anime canon for my own benefit, blatant infidelity (I know, QQ), most likely some OOCness (Yuuri's kind of a dick), violence, joking references to mpreg, maybe some voyeurism, probably a few others that I can't think of off the top of my head.

**Pairings(s):** For this chapter we have more Yuuri/Hashimoto and passing references to Elizabeth/Wolfram. The next chapter will contain descriptive Yuuri/Lady Flynn. You have been warned.

**Setting:** Varies. This chapter spans Yuuri's 18th, 19th, and 20th years.

**Rating:** M

**A/N:** Thank you everyone for all of your reviews! This fic has been soooooo much fun to write so far!

A few other notes before we get started: Most of the information I use about the Great Demon Kingdom's past has been taken from the anime (with a few exceptions), so Wolfram did _not_ participate in the previous war.

Also, when you get to the part where Yuuri's talking about Wolfram's clothes, I took inspiration from the manga. All the clothing in the manga is fantastic, but Wolfram especially has some really cute outfits.

* * *

><p><em><strong>The Happy Life<strong>_

by Mikage

**Part Two**

Yuuri spent no less than a week on Earth.

He arrived in the bathroom, and made sure to wipe up any blood and see to his cuts and bruises before changing into fresh clothes and going to face his parents. His father freaked out about his physical state more than his mother did (she assumed he'd done something truly daring, like saving villagers from a devastating flood or protecting poor, innocent orphans from a team of bandits or fending off a ferocious dragon), but when he managed to talk over them and reveal the truth, their tones changed completely.

Shoma chalked it up to boys being boys and needing to let out a little pent up aggression every once in a while, and went back to reading the newspaper with little more advice than to tell Yuuri he should probably apologize.

His mother, on the other hand, flew into a rage the likes of which Yuuri had never seen before. Yuuri had to wonder if she'd ever been so angry in her entire life. Miko wasn't usually one to _get _angry. She whined or pouted in disappointment or looked sad and tried to be cute in order to guilt him into doing what she wanted, or things went completely over her head and she responded with bubbly kindness and a girly smile when she should probably be a little more authoritative.

But this time she was pissed, to the point where Yuuri almost wished he _hadn't_ bothered to escape the other world, because his mother shouting and raging seemed even worse than Wolfram doing the same thing. She might have defended him in junior high after he'd punched his baseball coach, but punching Wolfram was apparently a completely different story, and Miko made sure to let him know just how displeased she was with him. It didn't seem to matter to her that her precious "Wol-chan" had gotten in just as many blows, since Yuuri had apparently been despicable enough to provoke him.

Yuuri didn't even bother to argue, since he figured he _was_ pretty despicable. He made sure not to tell his parents what the fight had even been about—he wouldn't mind talking to his dad about it later, but there was no way in hell he was telling his mother that the reason for it had been because he'd cheated on Wolfram. Both of his parents had been aware that he'd been dating Hashimoto, and while his mother had shot him a few disapproving looks every once in a while after she'd met Wolfram and learned that he was Yuuri's fiancé and grown to completely adore him (even as she greeted Hashimoto with a smile and made her feel welcome in their home), they'd both seemed to accept his dating as some sort of a phase that was best left to play out on its own. He was sure his mother's opinion, at least, would be completely different if she knew he and Hashimoto had actually had sex.

And under this very roof.

Yuuri stood and accepted the ranting as no more or less than he deserved, and promised he'd apologize as soon as he returned to the other world, and then went about comforting his mother when she burst into tears for her "poor, poor Wol-chan who must be so heartbroken, and, Yuu-chan, he's just such an angel, how could you possibly hurt him like that, I've never been so disappointed in you in all my life, and Wol-chan must be so devastated and I can't believe you _left_ him like this and _where_ did I go _wrong_?"

Yuuri kept his mouth shut until she was done. Shoma simply shook his head behind his paper and looked determined to keep himself out of it—probably a smart move, Yuuri thought. Shori, who'd walked in after work in the very middle of their mother's lecture, looked on in bewilderment.

"Mom sure ripped you a new one," Shori said that night as they were both on their way upstairs.

Yuuri glared in annoyance, holding an icepack against one of the uglier bruises that marred the side of his face. "Shut up, Shori," he said.

Shori smirked. "Trouble in paradise?"

He'd probably heard enough to make his own inferences. Yuuri refused to respond and shoved his older brother into the wall instead.

Shori 'tsk'ed but didn't retaliate yet. "And here I was going to offer you some brotherly advice."

"Because I'm sure you're such an expert on dating," Yuuri sarcastically replied, rolling his eyes. "That must be why you've got so much luck with girls. Oh, sorry, virtual girls don't count, do they?"

This time Shori did shove him, but it wasn't hard. "What the hell is _your_ problem?"

"Nothing. I'm just tired of everyone thinking I'm this horrible guy."

It didn't help that he was beginning to think that Wolfram's and his mother's assessments of him were probably pretty accurate.

"Hey, don't sweat it," Shori said, clapping a hand on his shoulder. (Yuuri suddenly wondered why people thought that was supposed to be comforting. It wasn't.) "I always thought Wolfram deserved a good punch in the face. He'll get over it, and then you'll go back to hugging and kissing and making little demon children."

Yuuri knew he was joking. He grimaced anyway and shoved at him again. "Ew, Shori. Knock it off. That isn't funny at all."

Shori seemed to think it was. He chuckled to himself while Yuuri continued to fume. As a means of vengeance, Yuuri stormed into Shori's room and retrieved Shori's newest dating Sims game from the computer. He took it back to his bedroom with him, passing his older brother in the hallway and taking a certain amount of pleasure in the look of startled disappointment on Shori's face. Then he slammed his own door, locked it before Shori could force his way inside, and loaded his computer to the sound of Shori's complaints as he pounded on the door.

Yuuri spent the night jerking off to the computer images of cute girls in high school uniforms.

It wasn't very satisfying.

* * *

><p>Yuuri spent most of the rest of the week moping around the house. He told himself he should be happy—and a certain part of him still experienced a sense of relief when he thought he wouldn't have to worry about the wedding anymore—but mostly he just felt like an asshole, and the affronted looks his mother kept shooting him every time she saw him wandering around the house weren't helping. She didn't say anything else, but the little glares and frowns were enough to remind him that he'd done a great wrong.<p>

The worst part was that he had no idea how to fix it without consigning himself to misery.

For the most part, he hid out in his room, watching random baseball videos on Youtube and jerking off to the dating Sims game he hadn't given back to Shori yet. It didn't make him feel better—and after a while he began to think it was kind of creepy that Shori, already in his early twenties, was still jerking off to fantasies of high school girls (he couldn't use the game after that and switched to internet porn instead)—but it eased some of the stress. Instead of feeling keyed up and frustrated, he just felt lethargic and depressed.

There came an evening when his mom accompanied his dad on a business dinner, and Shori went out to drink and have a good time with some of his college buddies. Yuuri thought about spending the night watching movies and maybe jerking off again, but after a few days of doing little else he was beginning to grow bored with it. It wasn't doing a very good job of keeping his mind off of the situation with Wolfram anyway (which wasn't good, as it meant some of the characters in the various porno scenes he'd watched ended up acquiring Wolfram's face somehow, which led to some very frightening thoughts that Yuuri did his best to force from his brain, not least of which was Wolfram with breasts, and he'd already decided months ago that that was too terrifying to even consider).

Instead, he forced himself out of the sanctuary his bed had become and made sure he showered, shaved, and dressed in decent clothes (more than the boxers and t-shirt he'd been wearing for days on end) before heading out the door to walk around town for a while.

It was nice (sometimes) to remind himself of what his life used to be like before he'd suddenly found himself taking up the mantle of king. He'd had a good life, for sure. His dad had a good job, but made time for him when he needed it. His mom was a good mother and stuck up for him when she thought he deserved it. His older brother, though annoying in his protectiveness, was at least supportive and cared about his well-being. He had love and respect and all the opportunities he could want if he only worked hard enough to make it.

He'd been taught fairness and integrity and equality and trust and respect and perseverance and compassion from a very young age—partly because his parents believed in such things, but also because (he knew now) they'd been preparing him for the life ahead of him. He thought it made him a pretty decent king, when he took the time to think about it. He was sure he wasn't _great_, maybe not the best the Great Demon Kingdom had ever had (he figured it was pretty hard to compare to someone like the Great One), but as long as he was good and just and made the sort of changes he thought would benefit his people and the world in general, he was sure it'd be a better place for it, and if people remembered him as the dopey guy who'd made a mess of things with his fiancé, he didn't think he'd mind so long as his people were happy and the world was at peace.

He wondered what his life would have been like if he'd continued to live here, if he'd never been born to be a king. It used to be easy to think about his future, either playing ball or working a regular, middle-class job, with a wife and kids and a stereotypically bourgeois life. Now he found he just couldn't do it, and he wasn't sure if it was because his circumstances were so different now, or if it was because the things he'd thought he wanted before weren't what he wanted after all.

He knew there'd be paperwork and parties and probably disputes at some point, and though he could imagine how he'd handle those things, he couldn't imagine the more personal aspects of his life. There wasn't anyone in the Great Demon Kingdom he particularly wanted to spend the rest of his life with. Of course, there wasn't anyone on Earth he felt that way for either. He supposed it was one of those things that would have to wait until he finally met the right person, but it made him feel a bit lost while he waited for that to happen.

Everyone else seemed to know what they were doing and where they wanted to go and how they wanted to live their lives. He didn't really have that, and he didn't know if it was normal or if it meant there was something wrong with him.

Most of the times, he passed it off as being a late bloomer again. He was stupid and slow and always had been, he thought. Other times, he just wanted some sort of an answer so he wouldn't have to worry about it anymore, and it frustrated him when nothing ever came.

"Shibuya?"

He stopped and turned at the sound of a familiar voice, his eyes catching on the figure of a girl he'd just passed on the sidewalk, but who he'd been too distracted to notice—short hair, dark eyes, a pretty enough face, and a thin but athletic body.

"H-Hashimoto?"

She smiled when it finally seemed to register. She was with a few friends—two females and a male—but she stepped away from them to greet Yuuri once she had his attention.

"I didn't think I'd see you again so soon," she said.

"Oh… uhhh…" He paused to think. It hadn't been that long, had it? Just a couple of months since graduation.

"What are you doing back in town?" she wondered.

"Just… visiting my parents for a bit," he said, lifting a hand to awkwardly scratch at the back of his head. "I'm leaving again in a few days."

"How is it, then? Abroad. Where did you say you were going again?"

"Oh, uhh," he started, trying to get his brain to work fast enough to form an appropriate response. "Germany," he settled. It was one of the first things he'd thought of when he'd first showed up in the Great Demon Kingdom anyway. "It's… okay. Lots of castles and… old stuff. How's, um… school?"

"It's really great. I was just heading out to a movie with some friends," she said, motioning to the people with her. One of the girls waved. Yuuri flashed an awkward smile.

"That's cool," he replied, at a loss for anything more interesting to say. It had been so easy to talk to her before, but that had usually been without other people present, and he was still too surprised by suddenly running into her to be able to express himself very well.

"Did… did you want to come along?" Hashimoto asked.

Yuuri could tell she wasn't just asking to be polite. He was sure that was part of it, but she'd taken a moment to appraise him, and his brain helpfully flashed back to the last time they'd seen one another, and the suggestion she'd made about getting together when they were both in town.

He felt he should have said "no." It seemed the right thing to do after what had happened with Wolfram, but he hadn't been in the habit of doing the right thing recently, and everything had always been easier and less stressful when he was with Hashimoto, so he ended up agreeing.

Half-way through the movie—an action flick he couldn't even remember the name of later—he and Hashimoto were making out in the darkness of the theater.

There weren't very many feelings behind it. He knew that well enough. He thought it would have been easy to fool himself into believing he was in love with her, given how well they got along and how much he'd always enjoyed their time together, but even when they'd been dating he hadn't been able to imagine staying with her forever, and he thought that that was proof enough that there were no deeper feelings between them. She'd never seemed to think any different. Even now she seemed more interested in fun and temporary companionship than anything serious or long-term.

It made him worry less, because he didn't think there was any way for him to possibly screw up with her—unlike with Wolfram, who wanted so much and who, as a result, Yuuri was always disappointing.

"Come back to my place," Hashimoto offered once the credits rolled.

Yuuri nodded and said, "Sure."

Hashimoto's place ended up being a small apartment she shared with one of the female friends they'd gone out with, which was much easier than having to worry about either of their parents suddenly returning home when they'd done this during high school at their respective houses, and as her roommate had plans with the male in their group (Yuuri could only assume he was her boyfriend, or something of the sort) he and Hashimoto had the very small but neatly furnished place to themselves.

They didn't waste much time with pointless things like games or movies or coffee. They stumbled into Hashimoto's room almost as soon as they were in the door. Later, a part of Yuuri would feel guilty for it—for doing the very thing that had upset Wolfram so much, and for using Hashimoto in an attempt to get over it. It helped for a while. He didn't have to think of much, as Hashimoto had always been a good distraction, and he joined her in bed enthusiastically.

He could practically feel the stress rolling off of his back, seeping out of him as they kissed and touched and writhed together between the sheets, panting and moaning and thrusting in time. He hadn't forgotten how good it felt, or how much less tension coiled within him when it was over, yet he found that he was still amazed when he was able to truly relax for the first time in the last week. Nothing seemed any clearer to him than it'd been before, nor did any of the answers he was looking for seem ready to present themselves to him, but he didn't think it mattered, because he was young and alive and he had time to figure it all out.

He thought that was the difference between Hashimoto and Wolfram (aside from the fact that one was a girl and the other was a boy, and Wolfram pushed him where Hashimoto didn't). With Hashimoto, he could be who he wanted and not have to worry about how his thoughts and his feelings and his actions would affect another person. With Wolfram, he had to worry about everything.

That thought should have clued him in, but he was too young to think much more of it at the time. Later, years down the road, he would think of it again and realize that that was what a relationship was all about—not this empty mockery of one he had with Hashimoto, but a situation in which another person's feelings were, in a lot of ways, more important than his own.

"You seem different," Hashimoto observed when they were done. They remained in bed. Yuuri was on his back, Hashimoto beside him on her stomach with her chin propped on one of her hands.

Yuuri tried not to pull a face at the thought that Wolfram had observed something similar many months ago, when he and Hashimoto had first started doing this.

"How so?" he asked.

Hashimoto shrugged. "You seem like something's bothering you," she said. "Well, you used to seem like something was bothering you a lot, but… it just seems different this time."

Yuuri didn't say anything for a while. He knew Hashimoto wasn't going to push him about it, which he was immensely thankful for, though he found himself answering after a brief period of silence. "I just… have this friend…"

She raised a curious brow. "Oh?"

"And, well… she kind of likes me," he said. He used the wrong pronoun on purpose. He wasn't sure how comfortable he felt admitting that the friend in question was really a guy. That would just open the door for more questions he didn't want to worry about being asked at the moment.

"Oh," Hashimoto said again, looking somewhat concerned. "Should we not have done this then?"

"No, it's fine," he quickly reassured her. "Honestly. It's cool. It's not like that. Er… and that's the whole problem, I guess. She wants more from me and I don't really like her like that. I mean, she's a great friend, but… she wants something serious, like, you know, eventually getting married and stuff, and I just… don't want that, and when I finally just told her she got upset, and now I feel like a total dick about everything."

"Well, she can't expect you to be able to change your feelings. It's not really something you can force, right?"

"Right, but… I don't know. I feel like I could have been better about it."

"All you can do is be honest, Shibuya," Hashimoto told him. She moved a hand to lightly fiddle with some of his hair. "Besides, you're only eighteen. Who's ready for that kind of stuff at eighteen these days?"

"Not very many people, I guess."

"And how old is she?"

"Uhhh," Yuuri stammered. He paused to do some quick mental calculations. Telling the truth wasn't exactly an option. "Seventeen," he said.

"Seems like she's rushing into things to me," Hashimoto said.

"I guess so…"

"Just be honest," she told him again. "It'd be worse if you pretended."

He sighed and nodded. He already knew it was true. Part of the reason things had turned out so badly was because he'd lied and let Wolfram push and shove and live in his little delusional world where they could be happily wedded king and consort. It was just as bad—worse even—for him to have allowed Wolfram to live with the assumption that his fantasy would one day come true.

"You're right," he said.

"And in the meantime…" she trailed off to climb up and straddle him, smiling broadly. "Don't stress about it too much. Be young for a while. Don't rush to grow up."

Yuuri supposed she had a fair point. He spent so much time working and worrying about any number of things at any given time that he often forgot he was only just out of high school. If he'd spent the rest of his life on Earth, he'd be in university now working toward a career. This was the time in his life when he was supposed to be enjoying himself, and focusing on what _he _wanted, not stressing over a future he wasn't even ready for. He couldn't control Wolfram's feelings on the matter, but he couldn't control his own either. Sometimes, he didn't think he was meant to.

It was okay to be lost. It was okay to be confused. It was okay to feel stupid and stumble through things. One day he'd figure it all out. One day he'd have an answer—one that worked for him, whether or not it made Wolfram happy.

It hurt a bit to think that Wolfram might always be miserable, but Yuuri knew that wasn't something he could prevent with any level of certainty, not unless he wanted to be miserable himself.

He couldn't change who he was any more than Wolfram could.

He could only continue to grow, and hope he turned out to be a good man when he was finished.

* * *

><p>Yuuri returned home to the Great Demon Kingdom two days later, after spending an entire night with Hashimoto and exchanging their farewells, and assuring his parents—though it was mostly his mother (his father didn't seem too terribly upset about the estrangement, merely concerned for Yuuri's happiness)—that he would apologize to Wolfram and somehow make things right.<p>

He issued a few more apologies upon returning—first to Murata for being a jerk to him before he left ("No worries, Shibuya," he waved it off. "I deserved it. Did you take my advice, though?"), then to Conrad for worrying him ("My only wish is for you to be happy, Your Majesty."), and finally to Gwendal, who took to glaring at him a bit harsher than usual as soon as he set foot in his office to find his Chief Adviser behind his desk dealing with the stacks of paperwork that had built up in his absence.

"I am not the one you should be offering your apologies to," Gwendal told him. He frowned darkly, highlighting the lines on his face, and seemed to think he could force Yuuri out the door and into Wolfram's presence (where he no doubt expected Yuuri to fall to his knees and beg for forgiveness like the ungrateful, unfaithful swine that he was) with the glare of his eyes alone.

Yuuri just shifted around awkwardly and mumbled a few things that didn't really make any sense before getting back to work.

He wasn't _avoiding_ Wolfram, he just didn't know what to say aside from "I'm sorry," though somehow that didn't seem as if it would be enough, and until he figured it out he thought it would be best to allow Wolfram some space. His fiancé—ex-fiancé?—certainly didn't seem all that concerned about seeing him. Usually he was one of the first people to greet Yuuri when he returned home—either with an annoyed glare or the beginnings of a smile—but this time he wasn't anywhere to be seen.

It wasn't surprising, not after their last encounter. It simply served to further emphasize the sudden rift between them, and Yuuri's shoulders slumped as he settled into a morose mood while distractedly sifting through his paperwork.

He found out later, through his daughter—who came to him looking sad and tearful and so upset he felt even _more_ like the biggest ass in the world—that Wolfram had hidden himself away in the old bedroom he'd given up upon sharing a room with Yuuri, and that no amount of bellowing on Gwendal's part or begging on Greta and Lady Celi's had been able to draw him out. As far as they could tell, Wolfram spent all his time in bed, only opening the door when one of the maids brought him his meals (which he had outright refused a few times, and didn't each much of at others). He'd missed his patrols, had neglected his drills, and didn't seem interested in anything but wasting away on his own, probably pining for all the things he couldn't have.

"He'll come out if you talk to him," Greta said. Even at thirteen she could still make Yuuri's heart twist when she gave him a certain look, and she used it in full force over dinner. "I know he will. He misses you."

Yuuri knew it was more than that—and he knew that Greta knew it was more than than—but he couldn't just say "no" and bear the disappointment in his daughter's eyes.

That didn't mean he didn't take his time. He agonized over what to say, whether or not he wanted to take anything back or if he just wanted to try to move forward without even discussing the things they'd said to one another. The first option seemed the rightest, the second the easiest, and he struggled to come up with a third option when he decided that neither sounded very appealing to him. He wished he had the courage to march up to Wolfram's door and pound on it until he came out, but nothing could ever be that simple, especially not between the two of them.

Luckily, he didn't have to agonize for long.

He sat in bed at night the day after returning home, his arms curled around his raised knees, where he buried his face as he lapsed into deep thought. He was just about to give up for the night and try to get some sleep—not an easy thing these days, with so much on his mind—when a quiet knock, almost timid, sounded against the door.

"Come in," he said, thinking it was Conrad or Murata or Greta coming to check on him.

It wasn't.

The door opened slowly, creaking softly on old hinges, only to reveal Wolfram in his pink nighty peering inside. Yuuri glanced up and froze, immediately tense, watching him with wide eyes as Wolfram stepped into the room and gently shut the door.

He looked horrible—tired and pale with some faint bruising along his cheekbone still, wounds that were healing, but very slowly. His eyes were bloodshot with dark smudges underneath, as if he hadn't slept well in days, or had cried for much too long. Yuuri didn't like to imagine the latter if only because he couldn't remember ever seeing Wolfram cry (except for that once, but Yuuri hadn't turned to look then), and he didn't like to think of himself as being the cause of it if he did, but the thought of Wolfram losing sleep over him didn't make him feel any better. His curly blond hair wasn't as neat as usual either, and he looked so lost Yuuri couldn't help but take pity on him.

He knew what it was like to feel that lost, even if their reasons for experiencing it were probably quite different.

"Wolfram…" he said, barely able to contain his surprise.

Wolfram looked at him for a few seconds before glancing off to the side. His hands clasped in front of him and wrung against each other as he said, very quietly, "May I speak with you?"

Yuuri hesitated for a moment, not sure if it was really such a good idea to do this in private, where they could easily start arguing and throwing punches at one another again, but Wolfram didn't seem to be as angry as he'd been the last time they'd seen one another. It didn't look like he had the energy to start another fight, and Yuuri certainly wasn't of a mind to do so. He finally consented with a nod, and shifted over on the mattress to offer his friend some room to sit down.

Wolfram hesitated as well, glancing at the bed, then at Yuuri, then to the floor, then the wall, then the ceiling, then back at Yuuri and the bed, before taking slow steps across the room and climbing up beside him, leaving a good deal of space between them as he leaned back against the fluffy pillows and clasped his hands in his lap.

For a while, they sat in an awkward silence. Never before had the silences between them ever been so uncomfortable. They had been occasionally, depending on the topic of conversation—the engagement had always forced things to take on a tense air—but for the most part their time together had been companionable enough. There were many nights when Wolfram would read before bed, and Yuuri either sat beside him without speaking, often loosing himself in thought and allowing himself to daydream, or he found something to occupy himself with as well, studying or completing some last minute paperwork, or going through some baseball stats in the hopes of helping his sandlot team improve.

He'd liked those moments for the sheer simplicity in them. Wolfram wasn't always such a horrible person to be around. Sure, he was annoying sometimes, and a lot of the things he did or said ended up frustrating Yuuri—occasionally beyond his ability to conceal—but it wasn't all bad. He didn't mind debating with Wolfram about political matters when his fiancé treated it like an actual debate and refrained from talking over him or treating him like a complete idiot. A lot of times they'd been able to laugh together, usually over something stupid Yuuri had said or done, but he hadn't minded it so long as Wolfram was laughing _with him_ and not _at him_.

He knew a lot of people thought Wolfram was intimidating. Hell, Yuuri had thought it himself. Wolfram's temper was notorious throughout the kingdom. No one liked the idea of setting him off and tended to steer clear of him when he was in a bad mood. When one considered the fact that he was also insanely beautiful, immodestly wealthy, and incredibly talented in various areas of his life (Yuuri would, of course, _never_ understand his painting technique, but apparently there were plenty of people who appreciated the odd style), it was a lot to take in from just one person. Observing Wolfram's numerous talents and virtues was enough to make Yuuri feel incredibly inadequate, and he knew he couldn't be the only one to react that way.

But there were things Yuuri liked about Wolfram, too. Beneath all the haughty behavior and the overemotional outbursts and the vanity and the pride, Yuuri knew Wolfram was kind and compassionate—maybe not to everyone, but he showed it when it counted. He was honorable and brave, he had so much pride in his people and worked hard for the kingdom's prosperity, and even if some of the nobles didn't particularly like him for whatever reason (be it his behavior or his attitude or the fact that he had so much influence at such a young age), the common people clearly viewed him with awe—for his courage, for his beauty, and for his dignity.

For all of Lady Celi's faults, the people loved her still. They adored her sons in turn, but none more than Wolfram—who always placed himself above them, but who never forgot them. Wolfram was proud of his noble blood, proud of his royal birth, of his wealth and his power and his aristocratic connections, and Yuuri was fairly certain Wolfram would never quite be able to grasp what life was like for people of lesser means, but that didn't mean he neglected those in need. Yuuri was well aware that Wolfram gave to various charities, not just because it was the right thing to do, but because he truly cared about their people's prosperity.

Wolfram was their golden prince—young and brash, but loving in his own way. As much as Yuuri didn't like the engagement himself, he knew a majority of the kingdom accepted it as fact that he and Wolfram would one day marry. He also knew that a majority of their people approved of it and anxiously awaited the day that Wolfram would once again be their prince by law. It would be a huge disappointment throughout the realm if anything were to happen to prevent their wedding from occurring.

Frequently, Yuuri had entertained the thought that Wolfram would make a better king than he was. Of all the people the Aristocrats could have chosen to replace him before his return, Yuuri thought they'd picked right in Wolfram, even if Wolfram hadn't wanted it.

These were the things that made it difficult to turn Wolfram away, the things that endeared Wolfram to him and made him feel a certain sense of pride in having Wolfram as his friend. Wolfram had obvious faults. He was spoiled, frustrating and demanding, and there were times when he seemed so selfish that all the self_less_ things he'd done seemed at odds with his normal behavior, but despite all that he was a good person.

And Yuuri knew he should have treated him better. Wolfram deserved that much, for all the things he'd done for him and their people.

"I wanted to apologize."

Yuuri flinched at the sound of Wolfram's voice, and glanced over at him in shame—not for what he'd done (he still could not regret his time with Hashimoto), but because he hadn't even been able to apologize first, when he knew he should have.

"For what?" he asked, picking at a loose thread on the blanket. He was sure it would be fixed by the next day. The maids would probably have the blanket replaced.

"I behaved poorly," Wolfram said. He didn't look at Yuuri, but stared down at his hands in his lap instead. "I was disrespectful and insulted you, and caused you harm in front of witnesses."

"I did it to you, too," Yuuri pointed out.

Wolfram shook his head. "You are the king. As your subject I must defer to you in all things. I should have been punished for what I did."

"Me being king never stopped you before."

Wolfram's face took on a pinched look, as if he were trying to keep himself from scowling and was having a hard time of it.

"It's okay, Wolf," Yuuri reassured him. He continued to pick at the blanket. "I deserved it. I was a jerk and we both know it. If anyone has a problem with what you did, I'll just tell them it was my fault."

"It's not that simple."

"It should be. I'm the king. You said so yourself. If I say it's okay, then it's okay."

Wolfram looked as if he would argue. His brows furrowed and his hands fisted in his lap, but eventually he nodded and managed to smooth his expression back out—not entirely at ease, but at least accepting of Yuuri's supposition.

"I'm sorry, too," Yuuri apologized in turn.

He knew he should feel remorseful for more than he did. He regretted shouting. He regretted some of the insults in he'd thrown in Wolfram's face. He regretted hitting him and causing him pain, but he couldn't regret what he'd done to cause it. If he could go back to that afternoon when he'd first slept with Hashimoto, knowing what would occur in the future because of it, he didn't think he would have made a different choice.

He wondered what was worse, that he'd done it in the first place or that he'd do it again.

Did it make him a horrible man? He was beginning to think it did, though when he took the time to think about it from more than one angle, he knew that both he and Wolfram were at fault. He shouldn't have had a girlfriend behind Wolfram's back, but Wolfram shouldn't have continued to expect him to abide by the engagement when he'd argued against it as many times as he had. Wolfram had trapped him and he'd fought back, perhaps not in the best of ways, but those moments of freedom and release from such a stressful life had been liberating, not only because he was getting away from Wolfram's cloying attention, but because he was discovering a part of himself he'd never even realized existed before.

He wasn't sure Wolfram would understand that if he were to explain it to him, so he didn't try.

"It's…" Wolfram began to reply. He sounded unsure of himself, and when Yuuri spared a glance over at him, he could see the conflicted expression on his face. Clearly he didn't like what Yuuri had done, but he didn't seem to want to discuss it or hold onto his anger any more. "You were… within your rights as king…"

"Okay, drop the king thing for a sec, Wolf," Yuuri said. He turned his head to look at his friend more fully. "Being king doesn't automatically make it okay for me to do whatever."

"Technically it-"

"I don't care about technicalities. You know it was wrong. I know it was wrong. I'm sorry I hurt you. That wasn't what I was trying to do."

"What-"

Wolfram cut himself off before he could even finish the question, but Yuuri was sure he'd been about to ask "What were you trying to do?" and had thought better of voicing it. He probably didn't want to know the answer any more than Yuuri wanted to struggle to explain it. Instead, Wolfram took a breath and released it slowly, calming himself before he could start getting riled up again.

Yuuri was surprised by the control Wolfram was exhibiting. He knew Wolfram could keep himself calm when he put his mind to it, but it wasn't often that Yuuri saw it in action.

"You'll do it again," Wolfram said instead. He didn't question it, but made the comment as if he'd come to accept it as fact over the last week.

"Wolf-" Yuuri tried.

He was interrupted by Wolfram shaking his head. "It's… fine," he said, haltingly, as if he were still trying to force himself to believe that it was. "You… I couldn't… when Conrart was… missing…"

Wolfram could never speak the truth of it—that Conrad had turned traitor for that brief period of time—and Yuuri took it as a sign of how much that second betrayal had affected a young man who, despite what he said on the contrary, still cared deeply for his second brother. It was another aspect of Wolfram's character that Yuuri had grown to view with some fondness. For all their differences and dysfunctional existence, Wolfram truly loved his family.

Someone who loved so much deserved the same in return.

Yuuri was afraid that he could never provide him with that, and it hurt to think that Wolfram would always be left disappointed.

"When Conrart was missing," Wolfram continued, "I couldn't… I couldn't be with you all the time. I couldn't comfort you… the way you needed…"

"Wolf," Yuuri tried again. "Wolf, that wasn't it. It wasn't because of anything you didn't do."

Wolfram didn't seem intent on listening. "I obviously can't… provide you with certain things. You've… you've made it clear where your preferences lie," he admitted. His hands clutched at his nightgown. It probably took a lot for him to admit to something he'd known all along, but which he'd chosen to ignore or pretend wasn't true. "I'm not what you want."

"That doesn't mean there's anything wrong with you," Yuuri told him.

"I know that," Wolfram said. Yuuri wasn't so sure he believed that Wolfram meant it.

"You're still my friend."

"But I'm inadequate as your fiancé."

Yuuri gave pause. He thought of how odd it was to hear Wolfram decrying himself as inadequate, when that was typically how Yuuri felt when comparing himself to others. "You're not inadequate," he said. "I'm just…"

'Not gay' was what he wanted to say, but it seemed insensitive to make even more of an issue out of Wolfram's gender when that wasn't something either of them could control or change. Nor would Yuuri want to, if he were to be honest with himself. He liked Wolfram the way he was. If anything had been different about him, their friendship wouldn't be what it was now. Yuuri didn't like the idea of that at all.

"It's… alright…" Wolfram slowly said, as if it took a great effort for him to do so. "It's alright… for you to… be in the company of women…"

Yuuri could do nothing but stare for a few moments. It seemed astounding to him that Wolfram would actually give him his blessings when it came to him pursuing sexual relations with women—considering how passionately Wolfram had been against it before—but that seemed to be exactly what he was doing, and Yuuri suddenly felt even more incompetent and unworthy than he had when they'd been struggling against one another on the issue.

He should be relieved—and a part of him was—that Wolfram was relenting. Wolfram couldn't force him to desire the company of men any more than he could force Wolfram to stop having feelings for him. It relieved Yuuri that Wolfram was finally starting to realize that very thing, even as it saddened him at the same time that Wolfram had to give up so much when he himself had given up very little.

With a sigh, Yuuri tilted his head back against the headboard and stared up at the canopy above them. His hands fell limp at his sides.

He didn't know what to do anymore. He couldn't force this thing with Wolfram, but he wasn't prepared to let it go and see his friend moping around, watching after him with sad eyes and trying to move on. It would be easier if Wolfram didn't have feelings for him, he decided. Then they could make the split and Yuuri could do what he wanted, and Wolfram could find his happiness elsewhere. He was sure there were other men or women (whatever Wolfram wanted) who'd treat him the way he should be treated, and not cause him the sort of pain and frustration Yuuri seemed to make him suffer through. He liked the idea of Wolfram marrying and settling down and starting a family. Yuuri just couldn't be the one to offer him that.

He felt the mattress shift, but before Yuuri could turn his head to see what Wolfram was doing, a hand slipped over top of his own, holding it loosely. Wolfram's palm was cool, but very soft. Yuuri wondered how he kept his hands so soft when he'd spent so long using a sword.

"And I think…" Wolfram said. He continued to speak slowly, his voice low and quiet. "I think we should postpone the wedding... for a little longer…"

Yuuri closed his eyes and took a breath, and shut his mouth around an immediate response.

That wasn't what he wanted. He wanted it over with entirely. He wanted the engagement broken, not kept in place even longer while the wedding was held off until such a time as… well, he didn't know what Wolfram expected, but he supposed there was still that hope that he'd change his mind at some point, once he'd had the chance to expend all of his youthful energy and take his pick of however many women he wanted. Yuuri was suddenly concerned about how Wolfram perceived him and what sort of an image he'd been giving off to his fiancé, who seemed to be under the assumption that he was as much of a lecherous manwhore as Murata.

He wasn't. Or at least he didn't think he was. He'd only slept with one girl, and there wasn't anyone in particular he intended to pursue now that he had the chance, and he couldn't imagine sleeping with anyone just for the hell of it the way Murata did. He didn't think he was that kind of guy.

Then again, he hadn't thought he was the kind of guy to cheat on someone, and look what he'd gone and done.

He did his best to take the time to think about all this as fairly as possible. He had to take more things into account than just his own feelings. (And, anyway, he was getting part of what he wanted, wasn't he? Wolfram was letting him have relations with women if there was ever one he thought he might like.) He had to think about Wolfram's feelings, too, and the state of the kingdom. This was far more complicated than a normal engagement. There were political aspects of it, too—some of which he didn't completely understand, but he knew he couldn't just sever ties and not expect some sort of a backlash. The people would be devastated, and Wolfram was too deeply invested to let go so quickly.

Yuuri thought Wolfram might need more time to distance himself before making the final split. At the same time, he feared that keeping him hanging on even longer would only make things worse for them both in the long run.

But this was what Wolfram wanted, and Wolfram knew best what was appropriate, didn't he?

Yuuri could allow him that, if that was what Wolfram truly wanted, even if Yuuri himself thought it was unfair of him to keep Wolfram chasing after something he was sure wouldn't ever end the way Wolfram wanted it to.

"Okay…" he said once he'd come to a decision. "Okay. We can postpone it."

Wolfram's hand tightened on top of his.

They sat there together, with only their hands touching. Neither of them said anything else, but left the conversation to silence.

* * *

><p>After that night, conditions in the Great Demon Kingdom and Blood Pledge Castle returned to some semblance of normalcy, with the exception that Wolfram's behavior became less suspicious, less accusatory, more quiescent, and moderately accepting.<p>

Yuuri, unused to this newly passive Wolfram, felt as if he were walking on eggshells for weeks. He refrained from so much as looking at women, whether it be the maids, Lady Celi, Anissina, and especially Gisela, even though Wolfram had given his ascent for him to do as he wished. Yuuri still feared incurring his wrath, and threw him skeptical glances over dinner and avoided discussing anything outside of state matters in their private moments together, but Wolfram seemed as unconcerned as he could possibly be while remaining the fiancé of a man who'd previously cheated on him and could very well do so again.

It was, perhaps, one of the strangest things that had ever happened during Yuuri's time in the Great Demon Kingdom—even more so than a demon sword with a mind of its own, a flute that could make it rain, dragons, bearbees, and all the other magical phenomena he'd been introduced to, because it seemed entirely out of character for Wolfram to turn a blind eye to any sign of infidelity.

But turn a blind eye he did. When Yuuri finally mustered up the courage to look at a few young noblewomen during a party (at Murata's insistence), Yuuri noted how Wolfram turned away and pretended as if nothing of the sort were happening right in front of him, throwing himself into a lively (and rather uncomfortable) conversation with his mother about her free-love voyages at sea. And when, at yet another party, Yuuri chanced the opportunity to dance with a girl who'd been batting her lashes at him all night (again at Murata's insistence; his friend really was a horrible enabler), Wolfram engaged himself in a very dull, very dry discussion concerning taxes with his oldest brother (who glared at Yuuri in Wolfram's stead, but who was somewhat easier to ignore because he was far more capable of restraining any outbursts).

In their day-to-day lives, things were as they always had been between them. Yuuri woke up at sunrise every morning to jog and train with Conrad, while Wolfram took the opportunity to get a few extra hours of sleep. Then Yuuri bathed, dressed, joined the others for breakfast, and saw to his lessons with Gunter or the many stacks of paperwork Gwendal had organized into neat piles for him. In the meantime, Wolfram would depart with his regiment on patrols, spend his day doing drills, or take some time off to paint, write letters to his uncle Waltorana and Elizabeth (and his mother if she was away), or pass the day with Greta. They would then come together again for dinner, either in the private dining room or the Great Hall with the rest of the court, and retire to their room for bed that evening.

Wolfram still shouted at Yuuri when he did or said something stupid, or lectured him on his behavior if he made some sort of social faux pas, and they still had petty arguments about what clothes Yuuri should wear or how much time he spent playing baseball instead of seeing to his kingly duties, but women and Yuuri's attraction to them never again came into the conversation. In fact, if it ever seemed in danger of doing so (such as once during a discussion about a particular noble family, when Yuuri had casually mentioned something completely innocent about their daughter) Wolfram was quick to change the subject entirely.

As a result, they spent a good deal of time talking about Greta and extolling their daughter's many virtues, as that was a safe subject and one they could both take equal amounts of pride in.

Unfortunately, word of their disagreement and the fight that ensued filtered out to the people, just as Yuuri had suspected it would, and there was a great amount of public concern and grave rumors of an impending separation. As Yuuri and Wolfram were both guilty of causing this sense of public dismay, seeing as they'd allowed their argument and the resulting fight to take place in front of witnesses (who couldn't be depended upon to keep quiet), Gwendal glared them both into submission and forced them to make public appearances together to prove that all was still well in the royal household.

They rode out into the country together on pleasant afternoons, went shopping as a family (albeit a heavily guarded one) in the local market (an excuse to spoil Greta, if nothing else), and set out that autumn to observe and assist their people with the yearly harvest. Yuuri had quite enjoyed himself during this event, as he so loved to spend time outdoors, and he and Greta had had no qualms about pitching in and getting their hands dirty. Wolfram, on the other hand, viewed such menial tasks as picking crops as being beneath him, and had instead spent his time telling stories to the local children, and allowing the women (who tittered and giggled and clearly enjoyed receiving the attention of a prince) to spoil him with sweets and homemade breads (which were, of course, checked for poison before he was allowed to consume them).

That winter was spent at Bielefeld Castle, placating Wolfram's anxious relatives, who all seemed quite devastated to think that Wolfram had fallen so far out of favor with the king—except for Waltorana, who was livid, and glared and glowered at Yuuri much the same way Gwendal did (which made him wonder if they might possibly be related in some way as well), but which frightened Yuuri more because he knew Waltorana was more likely to act on his anger, while Gwendal tended to be more reserved. In between his never-ending paperwork, Yuuri passed the cold, cold days playing chess with Wolfram (and losing every time), partaking in snowball fights with Greta (Wolfram outright refused to allow himself to be pelted with snow and locked himself away to paint while this was going on), and meeting Wolfram's aunts, cousins, and extended Bielefeld relatives, who all sought to praise Wolfram's princely virtues, as if by continuously reminding Yuuri of his beauty and noble dignity he would in fact discover that he did indeed wish to marry him (although there was much eyelash batting on the part of a few of Wolfram's female cousins, and even a couple of the males, who made sure to sing their own praises as well).

Spring passed with them traveling between Voltaire and Karbelnikoff, visiting Gwendal's ancestral home and Karbelnikoff Castle, where Anissina's brother greeted them jovially, with a banquet and tournaments held in Yuuri's honor. They stayed briefly at the manor houses of local lords during their travels, until such a time that public opinion had returned to its pre-royal estrangement high, at which point they made their way back to Blood Pledge, as Gwendal had been sufficiently satisfied with their progress.

Yuuri suspected much of it had been for Gwendal's benefit anyway, as he seemed to have taken great offense to Yuuri's treatment of his little brother and appeared intent on forcing him to pay for it, but as Yuuri enjoyed traveling and had always thrilled at touring his kingdom, he felt very little resentment.

Of course, their travels had other effects besides allaying public concerns. Between the work that had to be done, the many people he'd met and become acquainted with, and attempting to prove to everyone that his relationship with Wolfram was as well as it could be, Yuuri had very little time to involve himself with women.

He found that he wasn't entirely disappointed by this.

It helped that, in the interest of keeping the peace, he'd decided to put sex on the back burner for the time being, and focus instead on being a good king.

When he caught Wolfram smiling at him, with one of his "I'm so happy I could never want another king in my life" looks, he figured he was doing a pretty good job of it.

He didn't have sex again for more than two years.

* * *

><p>Sometime after his nineteenth birthday, when the weather was cooling after a sweltering summer, and the leaves were beginning to change into their autumn colors, Yuuri felt it was finally safe to broach certain subjects with Wolfram without the threat of them spiraling into a horrendous argument.<p>

They were outside on the terrace overlooking one of the courtyards, sitting down to afternoon tea while Greta, now fourteen and blossoming into young adulthood (much to Yuuri and Wolfram's shared chagrin) practiced her swordsmanship with her uncle Conrad. Wolfram seemed content to watch their daughter in-between sips of tea and healthy bites of sweet pastries, his eyes alight with pride. It was the first time Wolfram had been outside of his own accord (without duty necessitating the venture) in months, choosing instead to spend the summer wilting indoors, complaining of the heat and looking positively faint. Yuuri had eventually taken pity on him and journeyed to Earth for a battery operated hand-held fan that spritzed water in his face. This had earned him one of Wolfram's rare "you're so thoughtful and I don't know what I'd do without you" looks, and an entire week of compliments and sweet behavior (at least until the batteries died and Wolfram learned that Yuuri had forgotten to procure an ample supply of replacements).

Yuuri, for his part, had admirably marshaled through the heat and proven himself marginally capable of focusing on his paperwork, even as the bright sunshine beckoned him toward the baseball field, which had pleased Gwendal so much his Chief Adviser had actually _suggested_ he take a break every once in a while in order to host a few games.

As time had passed, and as he spent less and less of it arguing with Wolfram on the topic of the wedding that now seemed a distant worry, Yuuri's mind began to vacillate toward the subject of sex even as his body was forced to make do with the admittedly unfulfilling pleasures of his hand.

Not all of his thoughts, however, were what he'd come to expect.

"So if you think sex would be so uncomfortable, why did you ever bother trying to seduce me before?" Yuuri blurted out once he was finished with his tea.

Wolfram choked on his most recent sip and nearly spat it out. Yuuri was sure his pride and dignity were the only things preventing him from doing so. After some effort, Wolfram eventually managed to swallow, coughing after he'd done so and lifting his napkin to daintily pat at his mouth. He lowered his eyes to the table and refused to look at Yuuri.

"That is not an appropriate topic for conversation in such a public setting," he said, returning his napkin to his lap once he was done and focusing on the half eaten pastry centered on the fine china plate in front of him.

"So sit closer and don't raise your voice," Yuuri told him. He scooted his chair over a few inches, placing it in close proximity to Wolfram's and lowering his voice as he spoke, "No one'll hear us."

"I'd thought you'd gained some small bit of decorum in the last year, but I was clearly mistaken," Wolfram observed. He still did not raise his eyes, and his lips pressed into a small frown. "You're as uncouth as ever."

"Don't act so surprised," Yuuri said with a grin. "Now answer the question. If you think sex is messy and uncomfortable, why try to seduce me?"

He watched Wolfram's face flush as thin, long-fingered white hands played with his plate and teacup.

"I thought that's what you wanted," Wolfram mumbled.

"Why would you think that?"

Wolfram shook his head. "I thought it would… I thought you would be more interested if I was… open and available to you. When it became clear that that was hardly the case, I stopped."

"But you really don't want to?" Yuuri asked.

"Don't want to what?"

"Have sex."

Wolfram's cheeks flooded with even more color. "I didn't say that, did I?"

"You do, then?"

"When the time is right, yes. You were correct when you said that... it isn't unnatural for people to want to… to express their feelings for one another by physical means."

"I didn't say that," Yuuri pointed out. "I said it's natural to feel horny."

"It all amounts to the same thing," Wolfram insisted.

"Not really. I mean, people can have sex without there being any feelings behind it. You know that."

At this point, Wolfram raised his eyes to look at him. Yuuri thought his fiancé looked somewhat hopeful, perhaps thinking Yuuri's relationship with Hashimoto hadn't been one of any great feeling. He was right in thinking so if that was the case, but Yuuri knew neither of them would likely ever bother to bring it up in order to come to an understanding on the issue.

"You're referring to my mother," Wolfram said instead.

"Right," Yuuri replied. He figured it was easier to go that route.

"Unfortunately, my mother has the habit of thinking she's in love with nearly everyone she has sex with."

Yuuri snorted and laughed softly. "She makes it more complicated than it needs to be."

"I won't be like my mother," Wolfram said. He looked away again, staring out over the courtyard. Some of the color had receded from his face, but he sat quite stiffly in his chair.

"What, so you'll have sex with people you're _not_ in love with?" Yuuri teased.

Wolfram shot him a tiny glare and lifted his nose with in imperious sniff. "No," he said firmly. "I'll only have sex with…"

He paused. Yuuri was sure that sentence would have ended with "you" had things been less complicated between them over the last year.

Instead, Wolfram finished with, "whomever I marry."

"And," Yuuri continued carefully, "what if you never get married… for whatever reason…?"

He thought he saw Wolfram flinch, but his fiancé recovered quickly and hid his frown by raising his cup of tea to his mouth. "Then I'll never have sex."

"That seems kind of boring, Wolf."

"Unlike _some_ people, I don't require sex to find fulfillment in my life."

Yuuri wanted to grumble that he didn't either, but he was sure the rebuttal would fall on deaf ears. "You're just a prude," he decided.

"That's what loose harlots say when they can't comprehend the less carnal pleasures in life."

Not wanting to debate the issue (and thinking that Wolfram might have a point but also not wanting to admit that to him) Yuuri switched course and jumped to another question. "So if you weren't engaged to me, would you want to marry a guy or a girl?"

"I would marry whomever my uncle thought it was appropriate for me to marry," Wolfram easily replied, taking another careful sip of tea.

"But would you rather have sex with a guy or a girl?"

"I would do whatever duty necessitated."

"So you don't care?" Yuuri wondered.

"I didn't say that," Wolfram said.

Yuuri paused to consider this, not sure how to take Wolfram's response. "You told your mother once that you don't like being lusted after by men."

"Yes," Wolfram agreed. "Such behavior is inappropriate toward someone of my social standing."

"But it'd be different if it were women?"

"No, I don't particularly enjoy being lusted after by women either."

"But which is worse?"

Wolfram looked as if he were ready to say that both circumstances were much the same, but he paused before answering and seemed to give the question some more thought. "Women are somewhat less threatening," he decided.

"Why's that?"

"Men are typically more… forceful," Wolfram said, setting his cup back down. He took his spork at hand to eat a small bite of his pastry. It was as if he were doing whatever he could to act normal and distract himself from the fact that he was having an uncomfortable conversation. "Women are easier to control."

"Because you don't think they could overpower you?" Yuuri guessed.

"I suppose so, yes."

Yuuri grew quiet in order to think on this. It seemed very much like Wolfram (who desired control in all areas of his life and who placed quite a bit of concern in how he was perceived by other people) to dislike being made to feel vulnerable, which he supposed his friend thought was more of a possibility should he find himself faced with a man than a woman. Yuuri couldn't make himself agree, though he could sort of see where Wolfram was coming from in thinking that. While many of the women in Wolfram's life had rather dominant personalities, most of them were either his size or smaller, whereas many of the men in his life were taller and weighed quite a bit more. (He wondered if being scrawny ever stung Wolfram's pride the way it used to make Yuuri try so hard to be bigger and better, but that wasn't really what he wanted to talk about at the moment, so he didn't mention it.)

He, however, had had sex with a woman where Wolfram had not, and Yuuri was fairly certain that it was entirely possible to feel just as vulnerable with a woman as he imagined one could feel with a man.

"So you're attracted to women," he surmised.

"I didn't say that either," Wolfram said again.

"I'm confused then."

"At this point in my life, I have no desire to marry anyone but you," Wolfram told him bluntly. "Therefore, I have no desire to have sex with anyone but you."

Yuuri shifted in his chair but found that he wasn't as uncomfortable by the proclamation as he once would have been. He decided that this was because Wolfram had finally come to accept the fact that Yuuri was attracted to women and that the wedding may not end up taking place after all.

"And you don't feel threatened by me?"

"I feel content with you," Wolfram replied.

"And you… uhh… have feelings for me?"

Wolfram reached for his tea. Yuuri suspected he intended to hide behind his cup again.

"Yes," he said.

"Okay…" Yuuri finished lamely.

He wasn't sure what else to say. He hadn't quite gotten the answers he'd wanted, and he was still rather confused about Wolfram's attractions, but they were wading into territory he wasn't as comfortable discussing, so Yuuri let the subject drop.

He poured himself some more tea, and then offered some to Wolfram, who accepted.

Together, they returned to watching their daughter.

In his distraction, Yuuri forgot to shift his chair back to its proper place.

* * *

><p>Months after, once the leaves had browned and dried and fallen from the trees, and the skies grew gray from clouds laden with snow, Yuuri came to the conclusion that he didn't know Wolfram nearly as well as he'd always assumed he did.<p>

He didn't have any idea why he'd continued to make this assumption, since he'd assumed many things about Wolfram's two brothers and those had turned out to either be somewhat of a stretch or completely wrong. He should have expected the same with Wolfram. Instead, he'd thought his fiancé had become predictable to him over the years. He could read his expressions like an open book, and was generally able to guess his moods by the look in his eyes, the sound of his voice, and the set of his shoulders. This did not mean, however, that he knew everything about him, and he began to realize this a little more every day.

The first sign that there was more to his fiancé than meets the eye was Wolfram's acquiescence in regards to Yuuri and women. Yuuri never would have been able to predict this, given how often and how voraciously Wolfram had hounded him about his infidelities (both real and imagined) before. It took quite a while for him to get used to Wolfram's forced blindness and feigned ignorance, and even when he did he still expected that it wouldn't last, that something someday would set Wolfram off and they'd have to start all over again.

It never did, and that surprised Yuuri so much he was often a bit distracted in the off chance that he managed to gain the courage to talk to, dance with, or generally spend time around a pretty girl.

The second sign was Wolfram's confusing attitude toward sex and marriage. After their conversation on the terrace, Yuuri often found himself considering some of the things Wolfram had said, all the while trying to imagine his fiancé engaged or married to someone else, as he still rather liked the idea of Wolfram getting married and starting a family at some point—just not with him.

He soon discovered that his usually active imagination completely failed him in this endeavor.

The idea of Wolfram with a woman didn't seem right to him, even after he was able to force himself _not_ to think of Elizabeth, who, for some reason (probably because they used to sort of be engaged, he told himself), was always the first person he thought of despite the fact that he couldn't feel anything but disturbed when he imagined she and Wolfram making out. He tried putting other women in her place on the assumption that the resultant mental images would be easier to handle. Gisela made frequent appearances, as did a few of the maids, one or two daughters of random noblemen he'd met at parties, and once even Anissina, but it was awkward and none of them seemed especially suited to his fiancé, so he stopped before he could disturb himself further.

Trying to imagine Wolfram with another man wasn't any easier, but not for the same reasons. He simply didn't really know very many other men who'd make a good partner for his fiancé. Most of the ones he _did_ know were related to Wolfram (Conrad, Gwendal, Waltorana, Stoffel), or much older (Lord von Gyllenhaal, Lord von Radford, Adalbert, Gunter), or else already taken (Antoine) or completely not what he assumed Wolfram's type would be (Sara or Murata).

The truth was he'd always assumed Wolfram was gay. This probably had to do with the fact that Wolfram had been chasing him around, attempting to seduce him, and planning their wedding for years—and maybe also because of the frilly pink nightgown and bow ribbons, and the fact that he looked a bit more effeminate than your typical guy (he did look scarily like Lady Celi), _and_ because he wore frills and lace and brooches with his normal clothes, and shorts, stockings, and garter belts, too, but Yuuri didn't like to admit that out loud because that was stereotyping and Yuuri was aware that stereotypes were not only rude but also not always true.

So he tried to think of Wolfram's more stereotypically masculine traits in the hopes that his perceptions might change, like the fact that Wolfram was an able soldier and rather good with a sword and, you know, actually a boy despite the pretty face, but a lot of that seemed kind of sexist, since Yuuri knew a lot of women (i.e. pretty much every woman in his life) who could fight as well as any man.

The more he thought about it, the more confused he got. Wolfram didn't seem especially interested in anybody. He didn't even seem especially interested in Yuuri anymore, unless Yuuri happened to do something stupid to deserve a reprimand, like on the occasions that he wore his clothes the wrong way. Wolfram didn't look at him the way Yuuri looked at the girls he was attracted to. Actually, Yuuri realized he'd never really seen Wolfram look at _anyone_ that way—not a man, not a woman, and, again, not Yuuri, except for maybe once when Wolfram had tried to seduce him, but he had to wonder now if Wolfram might have been faking it.

For some reason that made Yuuri question his own desirability. It shouldn't since he didn't want to marry Wolfram and he definitely didn't want to have sex with him, but if his own fiancé wanted to marry him and consented to the idea (somewhat coolly, Yuuri thought) of having sex with him but didn't find him attractive or desirable at all, it seemed to Yuuri that there was something very wrong.

"I can't tell if Wolfram's gay or not," he said one afternoon as he played chess with Murata.

The bad thing about winter was that the weather in the Great Demon Kingdom usually meant it was necessary to stay indoors, which meant Yuuri didn't really have anything to do once he was done with his lessons and paperwork except play games or read. Since he didn't like reading, this usually resulted in him playing a lot of games. He preferred to play with Greta and Conrad, who would sometimes let him win, or Wolfram, who _didn't_ let him win but who was so appalled by Yuuri's ignorance that he at least tried to teach him.

Murata didn't do either (which was annoying), but since Greta was busy with _her_ lessons, Conrad was doing something or another with the soldiers, and Wolfram had spent the last few hours painting, Yuuri didn't have any other choice.

"Well, what do you think he is?" Murata responded. He was already grinning. Yuuri thought the least he could do was hold off on the grinning for a little while—say, when he actually had something to grin about.

"I thought he was gay, but then he doesn't really seem all that interested in sex."

"Were you all that interested in sex before you started dating Hash-"

"You're not allowed to say her name," Yuuri interrupted him. Even though he'd liked Hashimoto, and even though he'd liked dating and having sex with her, he also liked to blame Murata for the fact that all of that and the fall out of it had happened in the first place (probably because it made him feel less guilty).

"Fine," Murata conceded. "You get the point anyway."

"Right," Yuuri agreed. "But Wolfram's older than I am."

"Is he?"

"Um… yeah…?"

"But he's a full-blooded demon," Murata pointed out.

"So you're saying Wolfram being eighty-six is the exact same as being seventeen?"

"Why wouldn't it be?"

"I don't know. I guess because eighty-six years seems like a long time," Yuuri said.

"Maybe to you."

Yuuri thought about this for a moment and decided that Murata might have a point. Wolfram didn't always act like a human eighty-six year old (though his sleeping habits were something like those of an old man), so it stood to reason that his mental and emotional development would be just as slow as his physical development.

"Okay," he allowed, "but he's still older than I was when I had sex the first time."

"So now everyone's supposed to have sex by the time they're sixteen?"

"Well… no…" Yuuri replied. "But you did… and I did… and I'm pretty sure Shori did…"

"That doesn't mean it has to be the same for everyone else," Murata said.

Yuuri figured he was right (again). He frowned a bit at his own stupidity, and watched Murata take possession of one of his knights.

"But that still doesn't answer the question of whether he's gay or not," Yuuri continued, moving one of his pieces at random.

"And why is it suddenly so important for you to figure out whether or not he is?" Murata asked. Half of one lens of his glasses caught the light of the fire roaring away in the large fireplace. This, Yuuri thought, was just as annoying as Murata suddenly saying "Check."

Yuuri moved his king to safety. He pouted but told himself he wasn't; he was frowning—mannishly. "It's _not_ important. I was just wondering."

"Why don't you just ask him?"

"Because he won't ever give a straight answer," Yuuri said, and then realized he'd made an unintentional pun. "Er… I mean… a real answer. He'll just keep going on and on about duty and doing whatever his uncle says and blah blah blah, and you know what, that's really freaking creepy for him to do whatever his uncle says, and oh my god I can't believe my brain is going in that direction, I think I'm going to be sick!"

"How very articulate of you," Murata commented, half sarcastic. He moved another piece. "Check."

Yuuri, after cleansing his thoughts as well as he could, pouted at the chessboard some more, huffed in annoyance, and sat back in his chair with his arms over his chest. "Oh, fuck it. You're just going to win anyway."

Murata grinned.

Sometimes, Yuuri really hated Murata's grin.

* * *

><p>By the time spring came around again, when Wolfram's shorts and stockings with garter belts began to appear with more frequency as the weather warmed, Yuuri couldn't take the confusion (or Murata's grinning) anymore.<p>

"Do you think I'm attractive?" he asked one morning, after he'd finished jogging and training with Conrad and taken his bath, and Wolfram was finally awake and alert enough to hold a conversation.

Yuuri made sure to stand right in front of him—or behind him, really, since Wolfram was standing in front of the mirror, adjusting the dumb poof of lace he wore with every outfit. Yuuri wanted make sure that Wolfram actually _looked_ at him, and he didn't intend to let him escape the conversation either, so it seemed like a good idea to stand there and block his way out. Wolfram never let Yuuri escape when he wanted to, so Yuuri thought it was only fair for him to return the favor.

"What are you going on about this time?" Wolfram replied, fastening a brooch into place.

"I asked if you think I'm attractive."

After a few more moments of activity that Yuuri could only describe as "primping and preening" (but he would never vocalize that thought, because Wolfram would just give him an earful about his clothes being wrinkled or dirty or something like that), Wolfram turned around to face him. It didn't seem as if he had many obligations to fulfill that day, as he was in shorts and stockings and a nice pair of shoes with buckles on them instead of his uniform.

Yuuri did his best not to pass judgment on his fiancé due to his choice of clothing. He knew it was common for boys or young men beneath the age of one-hundred to wear such things in the Great Demon Kingdom; a lot of Wolfram's soldiers (who were all around his age) wore much the same on their days off-duty. Wolfram, therefore, wasn't a special case in this instance, nor did his clothing have anything to do with whatever his sexuality may or may not be—it had to do with his propriety, because Wolfram so loved dressing as one would expect a proper young noble lord to dress.

Yuuri, however, refused to _ever_ wear shorts that short, even paired with stockings. He didn't want to be flashing any _zettai ryouiki _for creepy old men or pervs like his older brother to ogle at.

"Why are you asking such a frivolous question?" Wolfram demanded.

He looked genuinely confused.

Why did he look confused?

Yuuri thought Wolfram should have reassured him right away, perhaps with an "of course you're attractive" or "you're the most handsome man I've ever met" (okay, so maybe that might have been stretching it a bit), not stood there and stared at him with the sort of expression on his face that he might show a child when they asked pointless questions with no meaningful answers.

"It's not… it isn't _frivolous_!" Yuuri insisted. He almost flailed his arms around but knew that wouldn't help his case at all. "How can you go along with the engagement and not think I'm attractive?"

Wolfram seemed to think on this question for a few moments. Then he gave Yuuri a very level stare. "I've already told you why I want to marry you."

Yuuri winced. "Right," he said. "Well, all the more reason, then. You should find me attractive."

"I don't recall ever saying I don't."

"You never said you _do_," Yuuri reminded him.

"I didn't think it was necessary for me to do so," Wolfram said. He shrugged.

He had the _nerve_ to _shrug_.

"So do you think I'm attractive or not?" Yuuri asked.

Wolfram then had the nerve to roll his eyes. "Of course."

"Then what do you think's so attractive about me?" Yuuri tried.

He would have expected a normal person to say something about his chest or his arms or maybe his ass (which he didn't think was all that great, but Hashimoto used to tell him it was cute), or maybe his legs if they were into that, or his boyish face and rakish grin (which wasn't rakish at all but, hey, a guy could dream).

Instead, what he got from his fiancé was, "Your eyes."

"What about my eyes?" he encouraged him.

"They're black," Wolfram said. He shrugged again.

Yuuri stopped to stare at him. This wasn't helping at all. Wolfram liked his eyes because they were black, which meant he probably also liked his hair because it was black, and chances were he only found that attractive because it was rare in this world, so rare Yuuri knew he was the first person Wolfram had ever seen with black hair and eyes in his life, and he would have been the only one if not for Murata.

"You like my eyes 'cause they're black," he repeated.

"They also have an interesting shape," Wolfram added.

"So do you think _Murata's_ attractive because his eyes are black and interestingly shaped?"

At this question, Wolfram had the audacity to look puzzled. "No, of course I don't."

"But… but they're practically the same!" Yuuri sputtered. He was quickly losing his cool and no longer put much of an effort into trying to hide it. "That would be like me saying I liked your eyes but not your mother's!"

"_Do_ you like my eyes?"

"That isn't the point here!" Yuuri persisted. "How can you want to have sex with me if the only thing you find attractive about me is my eyes?"

"I never said your eyes were the only thing," Wolfram said. "There's also your hair."

Yuuri let out a noise that was a cross between a growl and a scream, threw his hands into the airs, and stormed from the room.

Wolfram, he decided, had no idea what he was talking about.

He also began to strongly suspect that his fiancé was asexual, if only because he couldn't think of any other explanation.

* * *

><p>Clearly talking to Wolfram wasn't going to get him anywhere.<p>

Murata, of course, wasn't any better. Yuuri was starting to think his friend enjoyed tormenting him and ruining his life—and he had no idea why he would do that (because as his friend Murata shouldn't_ want_ to ruin his life), but he thought it was probably because Murata thought it was entertaining. Now Yuuri was finally getting sick of letting Murata meddle in his affairs, especially when they had the habit of turning out disastrously, so for a while he stopped trying to discuss anything personal with him. It had probably been a bad idea to do that in the first place, given that Murata was a total perv.

He probably got off on hearing about Yuuri's sex life—which was creepy and just _wrong_.

Yuuri completely overlooked the fact that he had a morbid sense of curiosity when it came to hearing about Murata's sex life. He couldn't compare himself to Murata, because Murata was weird and insane and perverted, and Yuuri liked to think he wasn't any of those things (except maybe weird).

Unfortunately, this left Yuuri with very few other people to talk to. He couldn't go to just _anyone_ about it, not only because it was personal but because just _anyone_ wouldn't know how to answer his questions about Wolfram.

When he took the time to think about it, he knew there were only three people who could provide him with the appropriate information. The first was Lady Celi, who, as Wolfram's mother and as someone who enjoyed plenty of sex, should be able to predict her son's attractions and his sexuality better than Yuuri could himself. He knew, however, that this sort of conversation was definitely not one he wanted to be having with his fiancé's mother. Lady Celi barely knew how to keep anything private, and he feared it would only lead to her shoving his face into her chest, which Yuuri tried to avoid as much as possible.

The second was Gwendal. This option was hardly better than the first. All Gwendal did nowadays was glare at him. That wasn't to say Gwendal hadn't spent most of his time glaring at him before, but now his glares were darker and not as affectionate (if they could have been called that) as they used to be. Gwendal mostly treated him the way he always had, keeping him in his office for hours to sign a bunch of paperwork and not letting him out until Yuuri'd made a noticeable dent, except now whenever the topic of Wolfram or the engagement came up Gwendal would glare at him the way he had when they'd first met, like Yuuri was an insignificant little bug he'd like to squash beneath his boot.

His last option was Conrad. Normally Yuuri wouldn't hesitate before asking his godfather for advice, but the advice he typically needed wasn't about sex or relationships or whether or not Conrad's little brother was gay, straight, bi, or what-the-fuck-ever. He and Conrad usually talked about bigger things, deeper things, like life and death and duty and honor and what it meant to be a man. He didn't want to embarrass himself by asking his godfather something so petty when Conrad was used to him asking about things that were actually important.

But Yuuri could never quite give up on something once he had his mind set on it.

Conrad it was, then.

There was a party that summer. Actually, there were a lot of parties that summer, but this one occurred sometime at the end of June, and Yuuri knew Lady Celi had planned it because there were a lot more men in attendance than women. Yuuri wasn't too upset by this, because the women who _had_ been invited were exceptionally beautiful, and anyway he had something else on his mind, so the fact that he wasn't expected to dance with someone new every five minutes (and the fact that Lady Celi was hogging all the attention) didn't bother him one bit.

He waited until Wolfram was off talking to his uncle Waltorana (who, like Gwendal, still took to glaring at him), and then shooed Murata off by distracting him with one of the pretty ladies. After looking around to make sure the others were suitably occupied (Gwendal was slipping through the crowd trying to avoid Anissina, and Gunter had disappeared the moment she'd come within a ten foot radius of him), Yuuri turned to his godfather and decided to just plow right into the conversation.

"Hey, Conrad, has Wolfram ever had a boyfriend before?" he began.

Conrad actually looked startled for a moment, standing by and keeping guard the way he usually did. He didn't seem to know what to say, and only managed to smooth his expression back out when he looked away to scan over the crowd for any sign of trouble. There was none, which meant he had to stick around and answer.

"No, Your Majesty, I don't believe he has."

Yuuri wasn't surprised by this at all. "What about a girlfriend?"

This had Conrad smiling in slight amusement. "Wolfram has only ever been close to four women in his life. One of those is our mother."

"And the other three?"

"Lady Elizabeth, Julia, and Gisela."

Yuuri tried to pretend as if he hadn't heard Elizabeth's name. His brain was already threatening to send him frightening mental images. Instead, he let himself think of Julia, and how it figured Wolfram would have been close to her since everyone else seemed to adore her.

And half of them wanted to bang her.

Which was really creepy considering he had her soul, and he was definitely not comfortable with the idea of Conrad and Adalbert wanting to bang him. Conrad was like a brother to him, and Yuuri was pretty sure Adalbert wouldn't have been his type even if he _did_ like guys.

He almost wondered if Wolfram was also one of the people who'd wanted to bang her, and thus wanted him because he had her soul, but he told himself that was ridiculous because Wolfram had been all of sixty (or twelve) at the time of her death, and his fiancé had never made a big deal about where his soul had come from in the first place.

"So he's never had a girlfriend," he said, trying to get back on track.

"No, Your Majesty."

"Do you think he'd rather marry a guy or a girl?"

Conrad looked at him with some confusion. "I would think you would already know the answer to that," he said. He didn't bother looking out over the crowd again and seemed to realize Yuuri was in the midst of a dilemma. After another few seconds, he pulled a chair out and sat down next to him. "What is this about?" he asked.

Yuuri shifted uncomfortably and fiddled with his spork. "I was just… trying to figure out if Wolfram likes guys or girls."

"'Likes' as in whether or not he finds them attractive?"

"Right."

He couldn't tell how his godfather felt about this topic. Conrad kept himself composed, his expression not quite blank, but definitely neutral.

"Why is that something that interests you?" he asked.

"Uhh… well…" Yuuri paused to scratch at his head.

Why _was_ he so hung up on this? It shouldn't be an issue. It wasn't, he told himself. He didn't think he'd feel any differently about Wolfram one way or the other. It certainly wouldn't change their situation at all. It wasn't going to do anything about the engagement, nor would it help him come to terms with marriage. He was simply curious. Wolfram's way of thinking seemed strange to him, and he wanted to know what, if anything, made him act that way.

"I don't know," he finally admitted. "I guess he just confuses me, because he says he wants to marry me, but he doesn't seem like he's attracted to me at all, and he doesn't even seem all that interested in… er… sex and stuff… and I just… don't know why."

If Conrad thought anything strange about this, he didn't wear the thought on his face. "You have to understand that Wolfram grew up under far different circumstances than what you're accustomed to."

Yuuri knew that was true. Being the son of a queen had to be a lot different than being the son of a banker.

"Our mother never had steady relationships. Men would come and go. Gwendal's father died in battle, my father was absent for a long time before his death, and Wolfram's father was mostly neglectful until he, too, lost his life to war. Even without our fathers present, we were each raised differently from one another. Gwendal became an aristocrat when he was still a boy. He had private instructors to see to his education, and an estate of his own to manage before he was even more than a child.

"I was raised from childhood to be a soldier, as my human blood meant few people truly accepted me as a prince. I traveled with my father and learned swordsmanship from him, until he passed away and Gwendal oversaw my training when no one else would. Then I was sent to the academy, where I learned the rest from Gunter. My entire life has been one fight after another. I was pampered only until I was old enough to see the world with my father, and from then on I lived the life of a wanderer and a soldier."

Yuuri tried to imagine how things must have been back then. It wasn't as easy as he thought. Nowadays the bigotry and racism of his people toward the humans had abated. People like Stoffel and Waltorana, both of whom used to be staunchly anti-human, were now more accepting and had opened their minds to peace and unity. The world wasn't such a hateful place anymore.

"Wolfram was, I suppose, more sheltered in comparison," Conrad continued. "He was the only three of us to be a prince from birth. Gwendal was born before our mother took the throne, and my blood precluded me from that right. Wolfram, like Gwendal, had private instructors, but he focused far more on magic than his swordsmanship. He was brought up here, at Spitzweg Castle, and at Bielefeld castle, around men like Gwendal, whose duties caused him to become an emotionally distant brother once Wolfram was old enough to look after himself, as well as men like Stoffel and Waltorana, who value tradition."

"But he had you, too," Yuuri said.

"Of course he did," his godfather agreed. "But I was often away with my father, and once he died I had to face a very cruel and intolerant society without him. I grew arrogant due to my talents, and bitter and jaded due to the opinions many people had of me. Wolfram was very young and heavily influenced by people who spoke against me. I have never believed that he hated me half as much as he once claimed he did, but he could never have said otherwise with the state our country was in at the time, and once the war had ended and you arrived to assume the throne, he was old enough to understand that things had changed and he was aware enough to realize the error of his ways, but I imagine he is far too embarrassed by the manner in which he used to behave to admit that he was wrong."

Yuuri was pretty sure Conrad was right about that. He'd always suspected that Wolfram felt a lot more for Conrad than he let on, he was just too embarrassed and uptight to show it.

"But what does any of that have to do with Wolfram being attracted to people?" he asked, not quite satisfied with what Conrad had told him so far. None of it explained Wolfram's preferences, or lack thereof.

Conrad answered him with a gentle smile. "Wolfram, as you may or may not realize, is a very emotionally guarded young man. Much of that has to do with how he was raised and the circumstances under which the kingdom was struggling at the time. He was bred to be a prince more than a soldier. He understands his position, he knows that his status, wealth, and beauty are all very attractive traits to many people within the kingdom, and he has spent much of his life under the specter of betrothal and impending marriage, which is something Gwendal and I both managed to escape. Gwendal, as Lord of Voltaire, is free to oversee his own affairs, and I was never given much consideration due to my low birth.

"Wolfram is not an aristocrat, nor has he been viewed with the same sort of derision I have faced. In many ways, his life is not his own. He has been obligated to answer to our mother, and now to you as king, as well as to Gwendal as his elder brother and one of the ten aristocrats, to Stoffel as his uncle, as an aristocrat, and as regent, and to Waltorana as his uncle and head of the Bielefeld family. He has listened to these men discuss his marriage prospects since he was very young, knowing that he might one day be made to marry a man or woman not of his own choosing. He accepted this as his duty, and to protect himself from the pain and public slander he's seen our mother face, he's guarded his heart and his body very carefully."

Yuuri let his eyes scan through the crowd of people in the ballroom until they settled on the fair form of his fiancé. He thought he might pity Wolfram more now, for living that sort of childhood and never having complete control of his own life. Knowing that didn't satisfy his question, but he could feel himself drawing closer to some sort of a conclusion.

"But he's engaged to me now…" he said.

"Yes, Your Majesty," Conrad replied. "And I think we both know how he feels about you."

"He said he loves me," Yuuri told him.

"Then I see no reason not to believe him," his godfather said. "He may never tell many people how he truly feels, but that does not mean Wolfram is not completely honest with himself. He knows what he needs. He knows how he feels. He knows what he would want if given the choice."

"And you think, even if he had the choice, it would still be me?"

"Yes, Yuuri. I do."

"Why do you think he likes me so much?" Yuuri asked.

Conrad smiled and chuckled softly. "That, I'm afraid, is something you would have to ask him."

Yuuri thought he already had, but maybe he hadn't been as clear as he should have been.

Or maybe Wolfram knew what he'd been asking and simply hadn't wanted to answer. Yuuri hadn't exactly given him much of a reason to share those sorts of personal things with him. If anything, Yuuri had completely discouraged him from doing so.

The more he thought about what Conrad was telling him, the more Yuuri began to think he knew what the answer was already. Wolfram _was _attracted to him, but the protective emotional boundaries he'd put in place would only ever let him admit it under extreme circumstances, and he'd probably conditioned himself to resist physical stimuli because his body was really the only thing in his life he ever _could_ control. He'd shown Yuuri bits and pieces of himself over the years that they'd known one another, but after Hashimoto… Yuuri figured Wolfram thought it was safer to draw away, further into himself, than to expose himself to even more harm.

Yuuri wondered if the things that Wolfram nagged at him about most might actually be what he found attractive about him. Yuuri readily acknowledged that he wasn't like people in this world. He was "common" and "vulgar" and "improper." He rarely wore his clothes right and he slacked off too much and he never took things seriously enough. He was too free with himself, he was too trusting, and he was too generous. He didn't understand the social boundaries of this world. He wasn't much of a king—or perhaps, to Wolfram, he was more than a king.

It wasn't a question of whether Wolfram liked men or women, he realized, because Wolfram gave his heart before he gave his body, and Wolfram's heart had already made its decision.

Maybe the reason Yuuri couldn't imagine Wolfram with anyone else was because he'd always subconsciously known this to be true.

But what did that mean for them?

Nothing.

All it meant was that Wolfram would never have what he wanted, and Yuuri would have the live with the knowledge that he alone held the key to Wolfram's happiness.

It was a heavy weight.

Yuuri expected it would crush him.

**TBC…**


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Kyou Kara Maou or any of its characters.

**Beta-ed by:** G

**Warnings:** Overall there's language, references to minors having knowledge of sex (however, all instances of sex within take place between consenting individuals who are sixteen or older), sexual activity, heterosexual sex, homosexual sex, masturbation, novel spoilers, mixing of novel, manga and anime canon for my own benefit, blatant infidelity (I know, QQ), most likely some OOCness (Yuuri's kind of a dick), violence, joking references to mpreg, maybe some voyeurism, probably a few others that I can't think of off the top of my head.

**Pairings(s):** In this chapter we have Yuuri/Lady Flynn, references to Yuuri's past relationship, passing references to Elizabeth/Wolfram, and then little inklings of Yuuri/Wolfram (in an emotional more than a physical sense).

**Setting:** This chapter spans Yuuri's 21st and 22nd years.

**Rating:** M

**A/N:** Again, thank you all so much for your reviews! I am always amazed by the amount of time and thought and effort my readers put into them, especially when I open my email to see such long, detailed, and heartfelt reviews! I wish I could find better words to express my appreciation, but I remain quite speechless from all of your support, dedication, and enthusiasm!

Thank you all so very, very much!

* * *

><p><em><strong>The Happy Life<strong>_

by Mikage

**Part Three**

At some point after being her prisoner, saving her (and everyone else) from one of the forbidden boxes, aiding her country in its time of need and fighting for her in the World's Best Fighter Tournament, Yuuri's hero-worship for Lady Flynn of Caloria had turned into a raging hard-on.

He wasn't quite sure when exactly it happened, whether it was during the period when he was first discovering girls or sometime after, nor could he tell if his previous feelings of fondness and awe for her might have actually been a latent attraction hidden beneath something more boyish and innocent, but by the time he was twenty-one Yuuri could no longer deny it.

Lady Flynn was hot. She was available. And he wanted her badly.

He acknowledged that these thoughts were very inappropriate. Not only was she one of his allies and a very good friend, but she was also very much a lady, and it seemed somehow worse to start having illicit fantasies about her than it did when he had them about Gisela (who was also technically a lady, though Yuuri had long come to the decision that Gisela was a soldier first and a lady second).

Once upon a time, Yuuri had been able to have normal conversations with Lady Flynn—admiring her all the while, but never to the point where it became a problem. He liked the think of those times as his mature years, for although he'd been but fifteen or sixteen and still very much a child, he'd also been courteous and respectful in her presence and not the sort of lust-ridden, bumbling buffoon he feared he'd become since.

The truth was that Lady Flynn was everything Yuuri thought he'd always wanted in a woman. She was kind and compassionate and generous, modest and gracious and soft-spoken enough to seem humble, but steadfast and determined enough to prove that she possessed a strong will and great fortitude beneath her lady-like exterior. She was also quite lovely which, while not entirely necessary, certainly endeared her to him further. Sometimes, in the story that was his life in this fantasy world that had become his home, Yuuri liked to think of Lady Flynn as the fairytale princess, who, through his many acts of valor and heroism, he had saved from a feral dragon (Small Cimaron) and the evil step-parent that hindered her freedom (Big Cimaron).

Unfortunately, while his sexual escapades with Hashimoto had provided him with many benefits, they also came with a few drawbacks. The first, of course, was the disaster it'd caused between he and Wolfram which, even three years later, _still_ caused a lot of tense situations between them, even with Wolfram's newly passive behavior. The second was that his perfectly pristine image of Lady Flynn suddenly became muddled with fantasies of naked skin, wanton moans, and filthy promises that would have made his mother blush.

Actually, he couldn't really be sure they _would_ make his mother blush, but someone somewhere would be blushing—of that he was sure—and Yuuri tried very hard for that someone not to be him.

He told himself Lady Flynn should be innocently dancing in a meadow full of wildflowers, singing to the birds and nursing some poor, injured woodland creature back to health, not having a starring role in his clandestine fantasies and wet dreams.

Yuuri tried to act natural. When she visited that autumn after he turned twenty-one, Yuuri told himself to be cool, and so long as he didn't do anything out of the ordinary, no one would ever know he imagined Lady Flynn with her clothes off on a daily basis, and their friendship would remain as it had been between them for the last five or six years. If he could only act like his usual dopey, enthusiastic self, he could make it through her visit with only the frequent, secret dreams and the erections hidden beneath the dining-room table every evening.

Sadly, Yuuri's life had rarely ever been so simple. If things ever went the way he wanted them to, that was when he knew that something was wrong.

Naturally, it had to happen over dinner.

He was in the midst of another fantasy—which had surprisingly had an innocent beginning, with Yuuri playing the part of the dashing knight begging Lady Flynn for her favor during a tournament, though it had only grown from there, as after he'd successfully won this imagined tournament, Lady Flynn took it upon herself to bestow upon him _another_ favor, and this one was not nearly as virtuous and chaste. Regardless, he'd been doing a bit of a better job than usual at hiding the fact that he was currently mid-fantasy, because even though he was rock hard beneath the table, he was cutting his meat and drinking his wine and occasionally adding some comment or another to whatever discussion was occurring at the table, all the while keeping his eyes away from the object of his sudden desire.

He should have realized he'd forgotten his napkin.

He also should have known his lack of a napkin wouldn't have escaped Wolfram's notice.

Yuuri had just gotten to the good part of his mental motion picture when he heard, as if from somewhere far off, Wolfram muttering "Honestly, have you no sense of propriety it all?" Then there was a hand close to the offending area of his lap, and Yuuri almost jumped clear from his chair, with the result that Wolfram's hand—so innocently setting Yuuri's napkin in place—came into direct contact with one of the hardest and most insistent erections Yuuri had ever experienced in life.

Wolfram snatched his hand away, stared at Yuuri with one of his "I've never been so scandalized in my life" looks, and turned very stiffly back to his dinner.

Yuuri cleared his throat, shifted awkwardly in his chair—which did nothing for the rigid rod of flesh trapped in his pants—and tried very hard to keep his eyes focused on his food.

They both reached for their glasses of wine at the same time, and they both drank greedily.

For a few moments it seemed as if that would be the end of it.

Then he heard Lady Celi's perceptive giggles, heard her chair scrape against the floor as it was pushed back, and registered the fact that her arm had slipped around his neck seconds before he found his face shoved into the depths of her cleavage.

She switched between he and Wolfram, pulling one and then the other into her notorious bosom-hug, back and forth and over and over, while she giggled and squealed and gushed about things he could barely make out between the embarrassment it caused and the dizziness he began to experience from lack of air, but he was pretty sure he heard words like "cute" and "marriage" and "wedding night" and something about lingerie that he was almost certain he was glad not to have registered clearly, as it would have no doubt replaced the naughty images he'd been having about Lady Flynn with images of Wolfram in frilly undergarments.

And he always tried his hardest not to think about disturbing things like that.

"_Mother_!" Wolfram somehow managed to shout in-between smotherings, and though they weren't released completely, his firm tone at least limited her gushing and overenthusiastic embraces.

"But Wolfie-" she tried.

"But nothing, Mother," he seethed, speaking to her quietly enough to keep his part of the conversation from being overheard by the rest of the table. "I am an adult, not a child."

Yuuri noted that Wolfram failed to include him in this comment.

"Furthermore, your insight on and enthusiasm for my… relationship… with Yuuri," Wolfram continued, somewhat haltingly, "is not an appropriate dinner conversation. I would therefore appreciate your discretion."

"But Wolfie~" Lady Celi whined and pouted and did everything but act her age.

Yuuri, feeling Lady Celi's arm still around his neck and fearing the bosom-hugs would soon begin again, glanced around the table for some sort of a distraction or clever diversion, and when he found none he decided it was best to temporarily escape the scene.

It suddenly seemed like a very good idea that he should dance, and he began to go around the table in search of the perfect partner.

Not Conrad. Jogging was cool, training was fine, and baseball practice was definitely fun, but dancing with his godfather just seemed awkward.

Not Gwendal, either. He had a feeling his Chief Adviser would choose to purposefully step on his feet—and quite possibly crush them in the process. Even three years after Yuuri's infidelity had come to light, Gwendal continued to glower at him as if he were, from time to time, still plotting his revenge.

Definitely not Murata, not unless he wanted to be carelessly swung around the dance-floor, or subjected to his friend's teasing. Murata was already looking at him with a wide grin and just-about-to-be-shining glasses. Yuuri suspected his friend was already plotting their next conversation and the many jokes and perverted comments he'd be able to make during it.

Suddenly, Yuuri eyes lit up as they came upon Greta, who sat there so innocently and non-threateningly he could almost see the golden halo over her head, and he was just about to ask his daughter for a dance when Wolfram—that traitorous, daughter-stealing bastard—got there before him.

"Greta, come dance with me," his fiancé said.

Their daughter smiled and rose from her chair to free Wolfram from Lady Celi's clutches, and gracefully joined him in a waltz.

Yuuri knew Lady Celi was about to coo and start shoving his face back into her chest now that Wolfram was no longer there to stop her. He could sense it coming, and after allowing himself to feel momentarily betrayed by his fiancé, he looked around the table again for his salvation.

"Lady Flynn!" he almost shouted, jumping up and dislodging Lady Celi's arm from around him.

The lady in question had already been looking at him—as had most of the rest of the table, for Lady Celi had made quite the spectacle of herself—and she smiled kindly, with only the faintest trace of amusement, because Lady Flynn, Yuuri told himself, was a true lady, and true ladies didn't laugh over the discomfort of others.

"Yes, Yuuri?" she demurely asked.

"Would you dance with me?"

His request was made in somewhat of a rush. Lady Celi was looking between the two of them with speculative eyes, and Yuuri wanted to get far, far away from the table as soon as he possibly could. Lady Flynn either noticed this or very much wanted to dance with him (he told himself it was the latter, even if it could have just as likely been the former), because she rose to her feet quickly (though gracefully) and came around the table to offer him her hand.

"I'd be delighted," she said.

Yuuri, in his relief (and utter stupidity), completely overlooked the fact that this was the woman he'd only just been having naughty fantasies about. Lady Celi's bosom-hugs were good for one thing—his erection had waned to something tolerable and easily ignored. As he took Lady Flynn's hand, he didn't even consider that dancing with her could be the very thing to set his mind down the gutter again, because dancing in the Great Demon Kingdom wasn't like the bumping and grinding people did on Earth, and he was a pretty crappy dancer anyway, so logic seemed to dictate that he'd spend most of his time worrying about stepping on her feet and no time at all thinking of her spread out on a bed of roses.

He should have known by now that nothing that had to do with sex or desire was ever logical.

"Go get 'em, tiger," Murata whispered—or failed to whisper, really, because while his voice was low, it still carried far enough to make Gwendal's glower deepen and Lady Celi titter behind her hand.

Conrad at least, had a strained smile on his face. Yuuri was satisfied that he could always depend on his godfather to know what was right and wrong and disapprove of someone encouraging Yuuri to do wrong.

Unless—another part of his brain considered (the part that was completely infatuated by the woman on his arm)—Conrad was experiencing some sort of an attraction for Lady Flynn, too, but couldn't do anything about it because it would be, one, horribly inappropriate, and two, completely at odds with his sworn duty to the king.

Yuuri pondered this for some moments, and then decided he was being ridiculous again.

He showed Murata a tiny glare that was supposed to say "shut up." Murata took it as a sign to offer more encouragement, and lifted one of his hands in a thumbs-up that half the ballroom could see. Yuuri, not really in the mood for his friend's interfering behavior, lifted his own hand to show Murata the middle finger, only for Wolfram to come and give his hand a little slap as he and Greta waltzed on by.

"Ow!"

"Did you just make a rude hand gesture at the Great Sage?" Wolfram hissed, too quiet for anyone else to hear him, but loud enough for Yuuri to know he'd done something that Wolfram didn't find acceptable.

"He was being a jerk!" Yuuri insisted.

He didn't have time to make more of an argument, as the dance carried his fiancé and his daughter further away.

Lady Flynn let out the softest of giggles at his side. Yuuri decided he really liked the way Lady Flynn laughed, and turned to her with an awkward smile, which was only awkward because he was trying his best not to grin like an adoring puppy.

"You haven't changed," she observed, placing her other hand upon his shoulder so that he could lead her along in the dance.

Yuuri's smile might have widened when he realized he was finally noticeably taller than she was. It made him feel even more like the dashing knight.

"Is that good or bad?" he wondered. He almost looked down at their feet to make sure he didn't step on her very lovely shoes, but that was before he looked into her eyes and thought about how pretty they were and found he couldn't look away.

"Good, I'd say," she answered. "It would be terribly sad if all this ever went to your head."

"Oh, no. It's not going to my head at all."

He still thought it was weird and awkward when people made a big deal about him being king, especially since he thought of himself as just a normal guy, and even after six years at this, he wasn't used to the reverence and the awe that came with the role.

Not like _other things_ that went to his head.

"Your youth and your optimism and your love for your friends have always been very charming," she continued.

Charming…

Lady Flynn just called him charming.

Suddenly Yuuri discovered it was difficult to articulate much of anything. His tongue felt too big and too clumsy in his mouth, and his head went cloudy with a swirl of disjointed thoughts, many of which had to do with he and Lady Flynn together, sharing the same horse or feeding one another chocolate or lounging naked in bed.

There were rose petals everywhere in that last thought, and just like that Yuuri's mind took another trip into naughty territory.

After that, Yuuri couldn't have repeated anything he'd said to her to anyone later, because he honestly couldn't remember. He knew he said a lot of things, as he definitely heard the sound of his voice, and Lady Flynn laughed and said stuff back (which he also couldn't remember later), but the evening went by in a total blur—a desirous haze. He got lost in Lady Flynn's eyes, which his lust-addled brain said were whispering silent promises to him. In actuality, Lady Flynn was probably just being her usual kind, supportive self. She smiled and consented to another dance with him, then another and another and another, until both of their feet hurt and they returned to the table for a drink, faces flushed and eyes shining.

Wolfram, who'd returned to the table with Greta two dances earlier, made a point of not looking at them.

Murata, of course, grinned mischievously.

Gwendal frowned.

Greta followed Wolfram's example and pretended not to notice, though she looked somewhat puzzled.

Conrad accepted another drink from Yozak, who made his way through the ballroom in a maid outfit.

Lady Celi gushed over all of them.

Yuuri saw it all but couldn't for the life of him care about anything except the way Lady Flynn's dress flattered the shape of her body.

He drank a lot of wine that night.

* * *

><p>Fate, Yuuri decided, was either on his side or completely against him. It was hard to tell with the series of events that made up his life, and while he could see how many things that had happened to him could be classified as good things, few of them ever came without consequences.<p>

Lady Flynn stayed for an entire month. On the last evening of her visit, Yuuri found himself right where he'd wanted to be all along.

In bed with her.

There weren't any rose petals, and he was pretty sure they were both drunk, but he was there and it was fantastic, not only because it was _Lady Flynn_, but because it was the first time he'd had sex in over two years.

He didn't know where Wolfram was. There was a nagging part of his brain (and he swore the nagging part of his brain had always sounded like Wolfram, even before he'd met him) that told him he shouldn't be doing this for the very same reason he wanted to—because it was _Lady Flynn_, and because he was just cheating on Wolfram again, and even though Wolfram had said it was okay for him to be with women, Yuuri suspected he'd only done so because he knew or thought that's what Yuuri had wanted to hear.

Just like Wolfram had tried to seduce him because he'd thought that's what Yuuri wanted from him. He realized Wolfram was always doing what he thought Yuuri wanted, which made him feel like a selfish asshole since he still wasn't capable of making the same sort of sacrifices. He just kept making the same dumb mistakes instead, only it didn't always seem dumb at the time, and he still didn't want to get married, so what the hell was the point?

If anyone ever asked him who the bigger man was, Yuuri would have shouted Wolfram's name in a heartbeat.

But thoughts like that were soon blocked out by a brain muddled with wine and feasting its eyes on a very naked Lady Flynn, and Yuuri's concern for his fiancé once again came in second place.

It was different than with Hashimoto, not because the guilt was somehow more pronounced, but because Lady Flynn was Lady Flynn, and Yuuri told himself Lady Flynn should be treated like a goddess. Not that Hashimoto shouldn't have been treated the same way, especially after she'd put up with a lot of his crazy behavior and been a good friend to him outside of being his girlfriend, but she'd initiated a lot of their encounters. She'd been straightforward and to the point, and sex with her had been fun, both because he'd been discovering new things about himself and about the opposite sex, and because the sex itself had often been spontaneous and unrehearsed.

With Lady Flynn, he took his time to do it the way he thought was right. Even drunk he seemed to know that this wasn't something that should be rushed and clumsy. He kissed her slow and touched her soft. He trailed his mouth (tenderly) all along her naked body, and stroked her skin with light, reverent hands. He pleasured her with his lips and tongue first, delving between her legs to taste her fully. She moaned rapturously and writhed upon the sheets, her long, thin fingers tangled in his hair.

Then and only then, after she had cum and he had worked his mouth back up her trembling body—to her breasts, her shoulder, the crook of her neck—did he claim her, sliding deep inside with long, slow, almost torturous thrusts.

At the time, he thought it was the best night of his entire life, and maybe it was up until that point, but he was only twenty-one and had plenty of life left waiting for him, so, really, sex with Lady Flynn was just sex with another kind woman—magical in its own way, and powerful enough to open doors to new experiences, but just like with Hashimoto, Yuuri knew it couldn't last, and later, once it was over and he came down from the post-coital high, he could acknowledge that he didn't want it to.

He'd cared for Hashimoto as his friend, as his first ever girlfriend, and he would never forget the time he spent with her. Likewise, he cared for Lady Flynn, he treasured her friendship, he cherished their alliance perhaps more than any other alliance he'd ever made, but he knew, somehow, that she wasn't the one for him. Even though she was perfect. Even though she was everything he'd always thought he'd wanted in a woman. In the end, the sex was just sex. There was adoration in it, there was tenderness and respect and a kind of devotion, but he couldn't imagine spending the rest of his life with her.

He could barely imagine ever doing this a second time.

Maybe it was because she was _too _perfect and he didn't think he deserved her. Maybe it was because there was something about her, something he couldn't put his finger on, that wasn't what he'd envisioned it to be. He'd placed her on a pedestal and he swore she'd lived up to every one of his crazy, clichéd expectations, and he thought it was enough.

But that was it.

Just enough.

Nothing more.

When he woke up in her bed the next morning, Yuuri realized that he still felt empty and lost. Having sex with Lady Flynn had done nothing to fill that confused void that wondered and waited for something he wasn't able to put into words, because he didn't even have a clue what it was.

Sometimes fantasies were just that—make believe. They were nice for a time, and when they came to be the world seemed a better place for it, but that didn't make them any more real. They were still just fantasies.

Reality was always different.

* * *

><p>"This isn't going to make anything awkward between us, is it?" Yuuri asked. He stood with Lady Flynn beside the carriage that would take her away, speaking to her in quiet tones he hoped no one else would overhear.<p>

"Nothing's ever been awkward between us before, has it?" she replied.

"No, but we've never really… you know… before…"

Lady Flynn smiled at him and reached for one of his hands. She squeezed it comfortingly. "No, we haven't," she agreed, "but you've always been so free with your thoughts and feelings, Yuuri. You don't think that I was already aware that you had feelings for me?"

Yuuri thought "feelings" was a bit of a stretch. He wasn't in love with her, though he used to think he could have been—over time. Not anymore. He cared for her as he cared for all of his friends, and he was sure she knew that. He supposed, when it came down to it, "feelings" was simply a more polite way of describing his strong desire for her, which had tempered since the night before. He felt little inklings of it still, but it was nowhere near as urgent.

"How long have you known?" he wondered.

"For some time now," she said. She still had that kind smile on her face, and Yuuri couldn't believe he'd managed to forget that she was a handful of years older than him (or more), that she'd been married and had these sorts of experiences already, and that she was much, much wiser for it.

"I'm sorry if I was too… forward, I guess is the word I'm looking for."

"Don't be," she told him, and squeezed his hand again before releasing it. "You should have known that I was fond of you, too."

Yuuri lifted a hand to scratch at the back of his head. "I hoped you were."

She laughed at him softly. The hand that had previously taken hold of his now lifted to the side of his face, where it came to gently rest. Then she leaned up and kissed him—light and fleeting. It was over almost as soon as it began, but even as their lips broke away from one another, her hand remained in place.

"I was once married to a good man," she said. "I know one when I see one."

Yuuri couldn't think of anything to say in response. Lady Flynn seemed to know this—she seemed to know a lot of things. Her hand slid away moments later. Together, they turned to the carriage, she to climb in and he to help her—ever the dashing knight. Once she was sitting comfortably on the cushioned seat, he shut the door after her.

"I'll see you again?" he asked her through the opened window.

"I would hope so," she said. "How can we call ourselves allies if we never see one another?"

"I'd much rather we be friends," Yuuri told her.

Lady Flynn's smile widened. It was no less fond than it had always been before this visit, and Yuuri knew from that alone that what she said was the truth. "We'll always be friends, Yuuri."

Satisfied that nothing had been ruined between them, and knowing that Lady Flynn had a schedule to keep, Yuuri bid her farewell and stood back to watch and wave as her carriage passed beneath the raised portcullis, and then down the path until she was out of sight.

Her words stayed with him for quite a long time after, longer than their night of passion did.

A good man, she'd called him.

Lady Flynn had called him a good man.

As he turned to make his way back inside, Yuuri thought to himself that he had a lot to live up to, and he decided that one day, even if he couldn't manage it now—due to youth or inexperience or whatever it was leading him down this crazy road—he would live up to all that Lady Flynn expected of him.

Because Lady Flynn was his ideal, and even though something told him she wasn't meant for him—as he suspected all ideals were not truly meant to be—he wanted to be her ideal as well.

Then, he thought, he could be a good man to someone the way her husband had been a good man to her.

* * *

><p>The worst part about growing up, Yuuri decided, was the added responsibility.<p>

The many things he had to do as king didn't truly bother him. He might complain about his duties from time to time, but it wasn't always as difficult as he made it out to be, not when he had men like Gwendal around to take care of or explain the hard stuff to him. (Yuuri had long come to the conclusion that he and Gwendal were more like co-kings in this venture that was running the Great Demon Kingdom, with Gwendal doing more of the behind-the-scenes work and Yuuri showing his grinning face to the world. At one point, this realization might have bothered his inferiority complex and made him question his own worth, but as he'd gotten older he'd learned that knowing when to depend on certain people and succeeding for it was better for everyone than trying to do everything on his own and risking failure, and letting a lot of people down in the process.)

Work was something he could always depend on. It was constant and (for the most part) unchanging. After six years at this, he thought he generally knew what he was getting himself into when he rolled out of bed every day. Paperwork might be annoying due to the sheer monotony of it, and sitting in on boring meetings when he'd rather be outside playing baseball often seemed like too huge of a sacrifice to make—especially on nice, sunny days (honestly, couldn't they pick dreary, grey days for meetings and leave the nice days for leisure time?)—but those duties often resulted in very few problems.

His occupational responsibilities were, therefore, quite bearable. He could grit his teeth and plow through them when he had his mind set on getting them done, and if he felt brain-dead or exhausted afterward it wasn't anything a good night's sleep wouldn't heal.

It was the other things, the personal responsibilities that came with growing up, that occasionally made Yuuri wish he was still fifteen years old.

Back then he could have gotten away with anything. If he wanted to secretly slip out of the castle with Wolfram to check on a village in crisis, the most he had to worry about when he returned were Gunter's sobbing and Gwendal's glaring (neither of which were too out of the ordinary to begin with). If he wanted to investigate some strange goings-on in town, he didn't meet very many arguments from his advisers, who'd probably been relieved to learn that he was taking more of an interest in the happenings in his kingdom that didn't have to do with demon swords and dragons.

He could look at pretty girls back then and not have to deal with much except some pushing and shoving from Wolfram (and maybe some gushing from Lady Celi), but once that was over and Wolfram had calmed down they'd all seemed to realize that his looking was completely innocent, because at that point chasing skirts had only been Murata's job and Yuuri hadn't had any interest in pursuing personal relationships except for when it came to superficial concerns (such as why girls didn't seem to like him like that).

Now that he was having sex concerns were rising in all directions, and his sense of personal responsibility seemed to increase tenfold.

Yuuri trudged back to his bedroom after watching Lady Flynn leave, his shoulders slumping as he hung his head. He wished he could have said it was because he was missing her, but that wasn't the case at all.

He wasn't sure why the guilt was more pronounced this time. He wondered if it was because he'd used Lady Flynn in much the same way he'd used Hashimoto, but then he reminded himself that both Lady Flynn and Hashimoto had also wanted it, perhaps not as much as he had when it came to Lady Flynn (he had gone temporarily gaga for her, after all), but neither of them had complained and both seemed to be at peace with their relationships with him. His worry and concern for them lessened as soon as he remembered that all of this was a two-way street and they both knew what they were getting themselves into, probably even more than he did.

No, the guilt, he was sure, came from another place.

Inevitably he decided that it was because this time was much, much different than Hashimoto. Hashimoto was a normal girl on Earth, so far removed from this place and the people here that sometimes it was as if they didn't even exist when he was with her, and she didn't exist when he was with them. But he wasn't on Earth this time, and he'd had sex with someone he and his friends had known for a handful of years. That knowledge made it seem more real somehow. He wasn't one kid leading two separate lives anymore. He was one young man living one life, and everything he did from here on out would have an impact on everyone close to him.

Wolfram was at the mirror again when Yuuri entered their room, but there were no shorts or stockings or fancy brooches adorning his scrawny figure. Instead he wore his uniform, with the result that he looked somewhat more severe—much more a man than a boy of eighty-eight-like-seventeen.

When Yuuri shut the door, Wolfram didn't turn to look at him. He kept fiddling with his neck poof like there was something wrong with it, though Yuuri thought it looked the same as it always did. He stood and waited for Wolfram to start lecturing or berating him, and when that didn't happen he took a few steps further into the room.

"Aren't you going to say anything?" he asked.

Wolfram's face in the mirror looked entirely unconcerned. He adjusted his poof once more before adding the delicate chain across it, pinning it from collar-corner to collar-corner.

"Good morning," he finally said. His voice seemed, to Yuuri, too even to be natural. Wolfram was either suddenly really good at forcing it or he'd been practicing for hours to achieve the effect. Judging by the bloodshot eyes Yuuri could see in the mirror, he figured it was most likely the latter.

"Good morning," Yuuri mumbled back. "But I didn't mean that."

"What else could you have meant?" Wolfram replied.

"I don't know," Yuuri shrugged. He glanced off to the side. "I guess I thought you'd ask me about where I was last night."

"I already know where you were, Yuuri. I am neither blind nor stupid, as you are neither considerate nor discrete."

Yuuri wanted to counter the statement, but he knew there was absolutely nothing he could say to make the argument believable—or true.

"I'm sorry," he apologized instead.

"What could you possibly have to feel sorry for?"

"I thought you said you knew where I was last night."

"I did," Wolfram agreed. He ran his hands over his uniform jacket to smooth out any wrinkles.

Disconcerted by the numb quality to Wolfram's voice, Yuuri risked looking to Wolfram's reflection again. He decided that Wolfram keeping his back to him meant his fiancé was more bothered by what had happened than he was trying his best to appear.

"Where was I then?" Yuuri challenged.

Wolfram didn't miss a beat. "You spent your evening in the company of Lady Flynn," he said. He neither blinked nor sighed nor had any change of expression whatsoever.

It was in many ways more frightening and disheartening than the fury and the hurt he'd shown during the Hashimoto incident. Then at least he'd seemed alive, even if that meant he was slapping Yuuri across the face and silently threatening to disembowel him with the dark, dark glare of his normally bright eyes. Now he looked and sounded dead, and Yuuri couldn't decide which betrayed face of Wolfram's he preferred.

"Okay," he began, trying a different tactic, "then what did I do with Lady Flynn?"

"I expect you made use of her bed."

"Doing what?"

He didn't know why he was trying to make an issue out of it, unless it was to get some sort of a rise out of his fiancé, some small sign of life. He should have let it go the moment Wolfram tried to ignore it, so that they could both go on to pretend that such a thing had never even happened.

Finally, Wolfram turned around to eye Yuuri instead of his reflection. He didn't cross his arms, or place his hands on his hips, or even so much as look as if he were about to switch moods and give in to a tantrum. He remained calm and composed and eerily compliant. He just stood there with his posture relaxed and his arms at his sides, his face and his eyes so emotionless Yuuri would have wondered if he'd been placed into some sort of a trance if there'd been any sign of danger around.

"You had sex with her, Yuuri," Wolfram said, with no more than a mere trace of a bite in his voice. "Please do not question my intelligence. I may have _far_ less experience in these matters than you do, but I am aware enough to realize that when my fi-"

Wolfram stopped, paused a moment, and continued when he seemed to find a less emotionally charged description. "… when the king withdraws from a banquet in the company of a woman whose charms he is clearly drawn to and fails to return to his room that evening, it is likely that my fi-… the king has chosen to consummate his feelings and desires for this woman."

"I don't have feelings for Lady Flynn," Yuuri argued.

"Then you did as you are entitled to do as king, and as I seem to remember expressing my permission for you to do so, I fail to understand why this conversation is even necessary."

"Aren't you angry?"

"Why should I be angry?" Wolfram asked.

"You were furious about Hashimoto," Yuuri pointed out.

"Hashimoto?"

"My girlfriend. The one I had on Earth. The one I slept with and then lied to you about."

"Oh, yes," Wolfram said. He sounded so unconcerned about something he'd once showed so much passion for that Yuuri was now quite sure he was forcing the even tone and impartial expression. "Well, I was not aware of her until your relationship with her was over. I have been aware of your budding feelings for Lady Flynn since the moment I met her."

"You met her right after you pulled me up from the cliff," Yuuri reminded him.

For some reason it bothered Yuuri that Wolfram would try to tarnish a moment he liked to think of as "theirs" (and he didn't have many moments like that when it came to Wolfram) with ugly feelings of jealousy and betrayal when it should only have been about relief and concern and love (because he was certain, now that he was beginning to comprehend Wolfram's feelings for and attraction to him, that "I'll fall with you" translated to "I love you" from a young man who, at the time, hadn't known how to say it any other way).

"You don't think I knew it then?" Wolfram wondered.

"_I _didn't even know it then."

"Apparently I know you better than you know yourself."

"And I know _you_ better than I did during Hashimoto, and I think you're lying," Yuuri said.

Wolfram's expression flickered very briefly. His eyes narrowed imperceptibly (Yuuri wouldn't have been able to see it if he hadn't been looking at him so closely) and his mouth twitched like he wanted very much to frown, but he took a breath and then it was gone—back to the blank, emotionally detached mask that didn't look like Wolfram at all.

"I fail to see why you should be so concerned about what I think," Wolfram countered.

"Because I'm sorry," Yuuri replied.

"Why should you be sorry?" Wolfram asked again. "I gave you my blessing."

"That doesn't mean I'm not sorry, and you know you only did that because you knew that's what I wanted."

"But that _isn't_ what you wanted. You wanted the engagement broken and yet we're still engaged, aren't we?"

"Because you still think I'll change my mind one day," Yuuri surmised.

"No," Wolfram denied. "Because this isn't simply about you and me. It's also about the kingdom."

"Oh, come on, Wolf!" Yuuri said, unsettled and somewhat frustrated by the indifferent manner with which Wolfram was still speaking to him. "You know that's not true! This has never been about the kingdom to you!"

Wolfram's mouth pressed into a very firm, very straight line. "I apologize, but I still fail to see the point of this discussion."

"The point is I slept with Lady Flynn and all you can do is stand there like it doesn't even matter!"

"Yes, well, you've already returned with your tail between your legs and apologized for it. I think the appropriate thing to do under these circumstances would be to move on with our lives and forget it ever happened."

"You can't seriously expect me to believe you're just going to forget about it!" Yuuri argued. "You didn't even come out to see Lady Flynn leave!"

"I apologize," Wolfram replied, too quickly and too emotionlessly to sound real. "I overslept. I'll be sure to write to Lady Flynn and give her my regards."

Yuuri scoffed and threw his hands into the air in exasperation. "While you're at it, why don't you thank her for showing me a good time?" he sarcastically suggested.

"As you wish."

Impulse had Yuuri grabbing onto one of Wolfram's arms. He shook him lightly—not even sure why he was doing so, except that he felt somewhat betrayed by Wolfram's lack of emotion on this matter. He'd have thought Wolfram would have felt even worse about this than when it happened with Hashimoto, given that he knew Lady Flynn and he'd been around to witness the whole thing this time. He'd even felt the proof of Yuuri's desire beneath the dinner table!

Yuuri had thought this was what he'd wanted, for Wolfram not to care, but instead it made him feel worse—because he knew that Wolfram _did_ care, his fiancé simply wasn't allowing himself to show it.

"Come on, Wolf! Yell at me! Hit me! Do _something_! You can't just stand there and act like it doesn't matter!"

Wolfram stared at him blankly. He blinked once and then carefully removed his arm from Yuuri's grasp, taking a step back.

"Stop acting like you don't feel anything!" Yuuri added as he let him go.

His fiancé looked to be considering him. Finally, Wolfram brought his arms up to cross them over his chest, and though his facial expression remained more curious than furious, his body language at least showed there was more going on beneath the surface.

"You want to know what I'm feeling?" Wolfram wondered.

Yuuri released a sigh. His shoulders slumped at bit more as he said, "Yes."

Wolfram's arms, so recently crossed, unraveled themselves as he lifted one hand. Yuuri tried to anticipate what he would do next—slap him again? Punch him first this time? Wrap both hands around his neck and strangle him?—but again Wolfram proved himself to be completely unpredictable. He frowned and flicked his hand, and then the bed was on fire.

Yuuri gaped at it and took a few hasty steps away.

"Is that more to your liking?" Wolfram asked.

When Yuuri didn't answer, Wolfram gave a derisive sniff and walked right by him.

"Good day, Your Majesty," he said curtly. Then he left the room.

The bed was still on fire. It took Yuuri a few moments to gather himself enough to summon the proper element to put it out, but by then there wasn't any hope of salvaging it. The blankets and sheets had burned away, and the mattress was blackened and smoking; the bed frame and canopy held up no better.

He called the maids in to disassemble and remove it once it had cooled, and when Conrad questioned him about it Yuuri simply shook his head and changed the subject.

The longer this continued, Yuuri realized more and more just how different this instance was from Hashimoto—not just the sex itself, but the fallout of it. Last time he'd felt little stirrings of guilt, but there'd been a larger part of him that had been able to blame Wolfram. Yuuri knew it was his own fault, too, of course, but he'd been able to tell himself that the blame he'd placed on his fiancé had been justified. Wolfram had trapped him, after all. He'd pushed too hard and clung too tight, and Yuuri had escaped from it in the only way he thought he could.

This time the guilt was worse, because Wolfram wasn't pushing him or trapping him. He was letting Yuuri do what he wanted, all the while sitting back and pretending like it didn't bother him when Yuuri _knew _that wasn't the case.

Yuuri couldn't blame Wolfram this time. He could only blame himself.

And for the first time Yuuri was truly ashamed of what he'd done.

* * *

><p>When Yuuri burst through the door of Murata's room in the Great One's Temple and found his friend half-naked and in the midst of a tryst with one of the many lovely shrine maidens, the nice thing to do would have been to apologize and leave them to their business, and then maybe find Murata again once his friend was done, but he wasn't feeling especially nice at the moment and he didn't think it was fair that Murata's life seemed so easy when compared to his own, so he marched over to the bed instead and adopted his best impersonation of Wolfram's "you're going to do what I say or else" expression.<p>

"You," he said to the shrine maiden, with perhaps a bit more heat in his voice than was strictly necessary, but nothing was making sense anymore and his life was spiraling out of control, so he didn't have the patience or the energy required to force himself to seem anything less than completely overwhelmed by everything.

"Leave. Now," he demanded. After another moment he felt a shred of remorse and added, "Please."

The shrine maiden stared with wide eyes, stumbled from the bed, grabbed her discarded clothes, and scampered from the room with a series of rushed apologies.

Murata reached for his glasses on the bedside table and slipped them on over a pair of eyes that were neither surprised nor disappointed. He sat up in little more than his pants and made himself comfortable on the edge of the bed, watching Yuuri in silent curiosity.

"You're going to tell me what I need to do," Yuuri said. He thought he could get through this conversation in a relatively calm manner, but he was already pacing back and forth in front of the bed a few seconds later.

"About?" Murata asked, his brows rising above the rims of his glasses.

"What do you mean 'about'? You _know_ what this is about!"

"I'm afraid you caught me at a bad time," Murata replied. He didn't appear too terribly put out and grinned his usual grin. "Enlighten me."

Yuuri huffed and did something that might have been a sneer on a more brutish or temperamental individual. "You're going to tell me what I need to do about Wolfram," he announced.

"What about him?"

"I slept with Lady Flynn and he's pissed off about it but he's pretending like he's not, and then when I asked him about it he set the bed on fire and now I feel like an asshole," Yuuri said in a rush of words.

"Okay, first," Murata began, lifting a hand to stall any more of Yuuri's babbling, "when one already has permission from one's fiancé to have sex with other people, one doesn't usually _ask_ them about it after. That's rude."

Yuuri glared.

"And second," his friend continued after a pause, lowering his hand back down as he asked, "he really set the bed on fire?"

"Oh, shut up," Yuuri said. "That isn't the point!"

"Right. The point, my friend, is that you're an idiot."

"Well, what the hell am I supposed to do? He says I can sleep with girls or have relations with them or whatever, and then he pretends like it doesn't even matter when he _knows_ it does!"

"You're supposed to keep your mouth shut," Murata replied. "A king doesn't usually discuss his infidelities with his fiancé."

"Why should this have anything to do with me being the king?" Yuuri asked. He really hated how people used his title and position to justify everything he did. He didn't feel as if he were above everyone else, so he didn't like when others tried to place him there.

"Would you talk about your affairs with your significant other if you were just a normal guy?" Murata countered.

"Of course not!" Yuuri immediately responded.

"Then why bother bringing it up with von Bielefeld?"

"Because he was acting like a robot!"

"And you'd rather he… what? Yell at you? Beat you up again?"

"He didn't beat me up. I beat _him_ up," Yuuri corrected.

Murata shrugged. "You beat each other up."

"Whatever. Can you just focus for a second here? We're not talking about that," Yuuri said. He stopped pacing so as to glare more effectively. "We're talking about how you set me up with Hashimoto, and then you pretty much made me have sex with Hashimoto, and then Wolfram found out and he got pissed off, only then he turned around and said it was okay for me to be with girls if I want to, and now that I _am _he's acting like he doesn't care at all, which is total bullshit because if he really loves me like he says he does, then he should care that I slept with Lady Flynn, and I know he does because he set the fucking bed on fire and now it has to be replaced."

Murata didn't say anything to cut his rambling off this time. He sat and watched and grinned and generally looked as if he were enjoying every moment of this.

"Oh, so now you're blaming me for everything?" he said with hardly a care.

"Well, yeah," Yuuri told him. "You set me up."

"You listened to me," Murata pointed out.

"Yeah, but… I… you… and I… and… but that… I mean…"

"You didn't have to listen to me," Murata argued, "but you did."

Yuuri clamped his mouth shut and grew silent. He looked off to the side with a frown and rubbed his palms along the legs of his pants for something to do with his hands. He knew Murata was right and he hated that, because it was easy and less confusing to blame his friend than it was to take responsibility for what had been happening between he and Wolfram pretty much since they'd met. He was tired of everything in his life being so difficult. He was tired of the frustration and the drama and the anxiety, and sometimes he just wanted to be a normal guy instead of what everyone was expecting him to be.

Too many people wanted too many different things from him. Gwendal wanted the perfect king, Gunter wanted the perfect student, Conrad wanted the perfect carrier for Julia's soul, and Wolfram wanted the perfect fiancé—none of which he thought he could actually be.

He _wasn't_ perfect. He was twenty-one and an idiot and he still had no idea what he was doing half the time. He was just trying to figure out a way to make everyone happy and he was already failing, because the only person he knew how to make happy was himself, and when he focused on that he just felt selfish and he hated that even more.

"Why did you listen to me?" Murata asked.

Yuuri groaned and plopped onto the floor beside the bed, sitting there for a few seconds before flopping onto his back to stare at the ceiling.

"What an intelligible response," Murata joked.

"Shut up," Yuuri demanded. "I listened to you because I wanted to."

"And you wanted to because…?"

"Because I like girls and I don't want to be engaged to Wolfram."

"So why don't you break it off?"

"Because I don't want to hurt his feelings."

"But you've _already_ hurt his feelings," Murata prompted him.

"Well, then because everyone expects us to get married and I don't want to disappoint anyone because I'm trying to be a good king."

"But you don't want to marry von Bielefeld."

"No," Yuuri agreed. He didn't know what the point of all these questions was. He was already pretty sure there wasn't one.

"Why not?"

"Because I like girls."

"How do you _know_ you like girls?"

"Because I like looking at them and I like dating them and I like having sex with them."

"So you're attracted to them," Murata continued.

"Duh, I pretty much just said that," Yuuri replied, rolling his eyes in annoyance as he kept his gaze turned up to the ceiling, spreading his arms out as he lay on the floor.

"But you're not attracted to guys."

"No."

"How do you know?" Murata asked again.

"I don't know, maybe because I don't want to sleep with them?"

"Are you sure?"

Yuuri hesitated to answer, not exactly sure he knew what kind of a reply Murata was expecting and suddenly wary because of it. "… yes?"

"You don't sound sure," Murata told him.

"Because you're not making any sense!" Yuuri shouted in frustration. He pushed himself up to sit on the floor again and frowned up at his friend. "I'm not _asking_ you what to do about me and girls or me and boys, I'm asking you about me and Wolfram!"

"And von Bielefeld has nothing to do with any of the other things you just said you're not asking about?"

"Just tell me what to do, Murata, because I don't have a clue anymore!" Yuuri said. Once he'd finished, his shoulders slumped again and he hung his head to stare at the floor. "I don't think I ever had a clue in the first place."

Murata didn't say anything for a while. Yuuri was sure his friend had either fallen into deep thought or was staring at him like he was something pathetic. He didn't know which it was because he didn't bother to look up again, but he felt pretty pathetic so he assumed it was that.

He couldn't even figure out why he'd come to Murata about this when it was at least Murata's fault he'd tried to develop an interest in girls in the first place, whether or not it was his fault for Hashimoto. If Murata hadn't bragged about his sexual escapades with the shrine maidens, Yuuri's curiosity might have held off for a few more years and he wouldn't even have to be dealing with any of this right now.

But he wasn't sure he liked that idea any better than what he was going through at present, because while sex had brought a variety of complications to his life it had also served as a learning experience. He thought he knew himself better now than he had when he'd been fifteen or sixteen. He felt more mature, more grown up, and he was able to grasp the seriousness of a situation better now than when he'd been a kid and thought everything was fun and games.

Everything _wasn't_ fun and games. Life was tough and confusing and sometimes it just wasn't fair.

In fact, it happened to be unfair quite frequently.

Maybe he could have learned all that without Hashimoto, maybe he could have come to those conclusions after a different but no less serious set of circumstances, but this was how things had unfolded, and this was what he had to sort through his life with.

He didn't think he was doing a very good job so far. If anything, he was making even more of a mess for everyone.

"The only thing I can tell you," Murata finally began, "is that you're never going to find out who you are if you don't go out and learn. If that means having sex, then have sex. If that means going off to search for adventure, then go out and look for it. You're not doing anyone any favors by sitting around and waiting for the answers to come to you. Sometimes you have to get up and look for them yourself, and, no, that isn't always easy and sometimes it's painful, but it's a part of life, and if you don't do it now… when are you going to?"

"But Wolfram…" Yuuri tried.

"Von Bielefeld might not like it, but I think he understands a lot more than you're giving him credit for."

"As if you would know," Yuuri snorted, and then stopped to think on it. He glanced up to look at Murata suspiciously. "Wait, do you talk to him?"

"What do you mean?" Murata asked. When he lifted a hand as if to inspect his nails (which were nothing to marvel over) Yuuri knew what the answer was.

"I mean do you talk to him like you talk to me?"

"Maybe. When he requests my expertise."

"And how often does he request it?"

"Not often at all," Murata admitted, "but when we do talk he's a lot more level-headed about things than you are."

Yuuri really wished he could have argued that he could be just as level-headed as his fiancé, but he was pretty sure Murata would just laugh in his face if he tried, and anyway "level-headed" wasn't really a word he'd have used to describe Wolfram before. No, Wolfram was "emotional" and "dramatic" and "fierce."

Unless Murata got to see a different side of him. Yuuri had seen Wolfram act more serious and dignified around people like Gwendal, and seeing as Murata was the Great Sage and rather important in the history of the kingdom, it stood to reason that Wolfram might behave differently in his presence.

Strangely, this thought made Yuuri feel oddly uncomfortable.

He didn't know why.

"If you're going to keep doing what you're doing," Murata went on, "then you're going to have to stop stressing out about it in front of von Bielefeld. Feel guilty for it all you want, but the more you talk to him about it, even just to apologize, the harder it's going to be for him _and_ for you."

Yuuri sighed heavily. "I guess it doesn't matter what I do," he said. "He's going to be hurt anyway."

"What you don't realize is that von Bielefeld's strong enough to handle it," Murata told him. "Strength isn't always muscle and magic and using a sword, Shibuya. Sometimes it's staring a painful situation in the face and coming out better for it in the end."

Yuuri thought he'd known that.

As always, he was beginning to find out that he didn't really know much of anything at all.

* * *

><p>Yuuri's new bed was just as big as his old bed, and, just like his old bed, it was occupied by a pink pajama-clad Wolfram every night.<p>

When Gunter discovered that Wolfram had burned down the old bed, he first lectured Wolfram on his behavior for three hours straight (half of which Yuuri expected went in one ear and out the other, as Wolfram never apologized or seemed to feel any sense of true remorse for what he'd done). Once Gunter had had his fill of ranting, he then used the bed's demise as an excuse to deck the new one out in fabrics fit for a king—from crisp linen sheets, to luxurious duvets, to decorative throw pillows, to lavish bed curtains with golden tassels.

From there, Gunter seemed to think it was a good idea to redecorate the entire bedroom. The chairs and settees were reupholstered, a daybed was installed by the windows (Yuuri suspected Wolfram had something to do with this, as he often found his fiancé napping there or else reading in the sun- or moonlight), new fixtures were installed, many of them in gold, with fine new handcrafted chandeliers of gold and crystal hanging from the ceiling. Paintings were hung on the newly painted and papered walls, fine porcelain flower vases were placed upon the tables, carpets were exchanged for more expensive ones, and a piano (which Yuuri thought was quite unnecessary but which he also suspected his fiancé to have had a hand in) was situated in one corner of the room.

He could thank Wolfram for one thing and one thing only, and that was that his fiancé had at least prevented Gunter from decorating in black, red, and gold, which Yuuri thought looked somewhat old-fashioned and way too severe, and which he wouldn't have felt comfortable living in. He got the "your hair and eyes are so majestic" comments enough, and wore black so often that being forced to live surrounded by it in his bedroom would have driven him crazier than he was beginning to fear he already was.

Instead, the room was decorated in his favorite shade of blue—that of the Seibu Lions. There were other colors, too, of course; mostly white, with some lavender, yellow and the rare splash of black for accents. The color scheme coupled with the landscapes Wolfram chose to hang on the walls, and the polished woods and golden fixtures, had the effect of making the room look quite cheerful and relaxing. Yuuri was rather pleased once it was done, to the point where he was almost thankful that Wolfram had set their old bed on fire.

The guilt, however, never went away, so that whenever Wolfram did anything nice for him—such as the situation with the bedroom—he was reminded once again about how much of a jackass he'd been both after Hashimoto _and_ Lady Flynn.

Yuuri climbed into bed the night after the remodeling and redecorating was finally complete, some months after he'd made an ass of himself a second time. The crisp autumn air had already given way to a chilly winter, and Wolfram's frilly pink nighty was back in the place of his thinner but equally frilly summer night attire.

His fiancé was busy reading a book again, though Yuuri watched him pause once he'd settled himself back against the pillows. Yuuri took a moment to stare at him and thought that Wolfram looked exceptionally pretty clothed in pink and surrounded by such light and airy colors. It had a much more pleasing effect than his blue uniform, which made him look too stern, or any of his travel clothes, which either made him look uncomfortable (as Yuuri associated them with Wolfram's seasickness) or too unassuming for someone with Wolfram's fiery personality.

Yuuri would rather watch Wolfram partaking in one of his hobbies than seeing to his duties as a soldier, because it was when Wolfram was reading or painting or playing cards or chess that he looked the most content.

"You're staring," Wolfram said, flipping a page to continue reading.

"Sorry," Yuuri apologized. He made himself look away even if he wasn't done yet.

"Is something bothering you?" his fiancé asked.

"Not really," Yuuri sighed a reply. "I'm just sorry."

"For?"

"Nothing. Staring, I guess. Everything, maybe. I don't know."

"I've told you before that you have no reason to apologize," Wolfram reminded him. He didn't turn away from his book or seem bothered by the conversation at all. It was getting harder and harder to discern if it was because he truly _wasn't_ bothered, or if he was just getting even better at faking it.

Yuuri supposed it was more likely that he was faking. He probably practice not caring whenever Yuuri wasn't in the room with him.

"Can I ask you a question?" he wondered.

"Something tells me you're going to whether I want you to or not," Wolfram observed.

Yuuri frowned lightly and considered not asking, but he already knew he wasn't the kind of guy to just let things go.

"When you were planning the wedding, you said you didn't think about the wedding night at all," he noted.

Wolfram released a heavy sigh but kept his eyes fastened to his book. "I don't see why you insist on bringing these things up all the time," he said.

"I don't know," Yuuri admitted, twiddling his thumbs in his lap. "I guess because I'm trying to understand you."

His fiancé flipped another page. Yuuri couldn't tell if it was because he'd finished reading the previous one or if he was just trying to seem like he was still occupied.

"I didn't think about it because I assumed you would see that the custom was changed," Wolfram revealed.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that I assumed you would change tradition and put forth a law that deemed public consummation unnecessary given that it seemed unlikely that we would even consummate the marriage."

"Oh," Yuuri said. "I didn't even think of that."

"Then we're fortunate we postponed it," Wolfram replied.

Yuuri looked over at him again to see that Wolfram's cheeks were faintly pink. He was suddenly struck by how young Wolfram was. It wasn't anything he hadn't known before; Wolfram was the youngest of Lady Celi's children, the youngest of Yuuri's advisers after Murata, and the first person Yuuri had gotten to know in this world who was more or less his age. Yet somehow—maybe because of his fiancé's dignified air or the fact that Wolfram had matured so much in only a handful of years or because his real age was eighty-eight—it had never really sunk into Yuuri's head that Wolfram was pretty much only seventeen years old until he watched him sitting there for what had to be the hundredth time, blushing about sex with his nose shoved in a book about some long dead virgin queen.

"You were going to marry me thinking we'd never have sex?" he asked. He couldn't decide if he should feel surprised by this idea or not, and eventually concluded that it wasn't any less strange than all the other things he'd been learning about his fiancé.

"I told you before that I don't require sex to find fulfillment in my life," Wolfram said.

"But you'd do it if I wanted you to?"

"Of course," Wolfram agreed.

"What if I wanted you to have sex with someone else?" Yuuri tried.

That suggestion had Wolfram turning away from his book. He looked at Yuuri with one of his typical scandalized expressions, and seemed as if he were considering throwing the book at him—as if such a thing were enough to knock some sort of sense into him.

Yuuri figured it wouldn't be any better or worse than anything else people had tried on him before, though the last time Wolfram had thrown a book at him hadn't done anything at all.

"I would hope," Wolfram slowly began, "that you would have more respect for me than that."

"Elizabeth," Yuuri suddenly said.

"Excuse me?" Wolfram blinked in confusion.

"What if I wanted you to have sex with Elizabeth?"

He didn't—not now, not ever—but she was still the first person who came to mind, and she probably always would be.

He was just going to have to get used to it.

"I would never!" Wolfram exclaimed. The color in his cheeks spread swiftly to his ears and down his neck.

"What about Murata? He sort of looks like me in some ways, doesn't he?"

"I already told you I'll only have sex with whomever I marry!"

"But you want to marry me," Yuuri pointed out.

"Precisely."

"And I don't want to have sex with you."

"Yes, I assumed so."

"And you'd be happy being married but not having sex?" Yuuri wondered, trying to wrap his mind around that idea and not succeeding very well—a typical circumstance, when he took the time to think about it.

"What did I say before?" Wolfram prompted.

"That you don't need sex to be fulfilled."

"Then what do you suppose the answer is?"

"The answer is that that sounds like a very sad and boring life," Yuuri announced.

"Perhaps to some people it would be," Wolfram allowed.

"But not to you."

"No, not to me. So long as I'm able to do what I can to see that you have all the opportunities to be a good king, I'll be quite satisfied with my life."

Yuuri stared at him again and couldn't find anything to say. It seemed like such a selfless way to live for someone who acted like such a selfish brat sometimes. If he'd known all this before, he wondered if he would have reacted to the idea of marriage any differently. Now he couldn't be sure. He still didn't _want_ to get married, but he thought, so long as Wolfram really _was_ okay with never having sex, that he might be able to tolerate the arrangement once he let himself get used to the idea.

Even if, to him, it still seemed so unfair to them both.

"Sometimes I just don't get you," Yuuri said. He sighed and burrowed under the covers, turning onto his side to let the conversation die so that he could try to get some sleep.

Every once in a while, he heard the rustling of pages as Wolfram continued to read.

Thirty minutes later, right as he was finally drifting off, Yuuri thought he felt a hand in his hair.

It was nice.

* * *

><p>The year Yuuri turned twenty-two was an interesting year.<p>

It began that winter with the worst blizzard to strike the kingdom in over a hundred years. Yuuri went to bed one evening to cloudy skies and howling winds and only a few inches of snow on the ground, and woke up the next morning to snow almost as deep as Wolfram was tall. After completing the paperwork required to see that his people received the proper aid during this time of intense cold, Yuuri let himself be a child again, digging tunnels, building snow forts, and staging spirited snowball fights between he and Greta and Murata and Conrad.

Wolfram remained indoors. Occasionally Yuuri would look up in the direction of their bedroom while he was outside and spy his fiancé sitting on the daybed by the windows, probably reading another book while keeping an eye on the activities below.

Winter was followed by an equally stormy spring, although instead of snow the kingdom was pummeled with torrential rains that flooded the valleys. Yuuri spent most of his time working since he had nothing better to do and he didn't really like the thought of losing any more games of chess, and he let himself mutter along with his fiancé about the poor state of the weather, because spring should be the beginning of baseball season, and he couldn't play at all with thunder rumbling and lightning streaking across the sky. Once or twice he let Greta drag him out to dance around in the rain, but as soon as this resulted in their daughter taking to her bed with a fever, Wolfram refused to allow it again.

After that, one would have assumed they'd be prepared for anything summer could possibly throw at them, but they were once again surprised. Yuuri had thought the summer he'd turned nineteen had been the hottest he'd ever experienced. Year twenty-two proved him wrong.

Wolfram stayed inside again, wearing little more than shorts and thin stockings and shirts for three months straight (sometimes even forgoing the shorts and stockings when he spent the day in their bedroom). Even Greta, seventeen and maturing beautifully, began to show weakness to the miserable heat, drooping at the dinner table and complaining about what the humidity was doing to her hair. She, too, eventually stopped going outside, and spent a majority of her time in Anissina's laboratory, where the red-headed scientist kept it pleasantly cool with a few of her inventions that actually worked.

Gwendal and Gunter were suddenly allowing themselves to be dragged there without as much of a fuss. Sometimes they even went voluntarily.

Yuuri took this as proof that the abnormal heat was beginning to affect everyone.

He, however, marshaled on, just as he had the last time. He got up at sunrise every morning to jog and train with Conrad as he always had before. It took only one day for Yuuri to realize that his tracksuit wasn't going to cut it that summer when it quickly soaked through with sweat. The next day, he wore some shorts and a sleeveless t-shirt he'd brought from Earth, and did his best to ignore the giggling and gossiping maids and the soldiers who ogled his legs.

He understood the purpose of knee-pants and stockings that year.

Apparently well-shaped calves were deemed an attractive physical quality among men.

Yuuri was secretly pleased to discover that all his time spent crouching behind home-plate had caused him to develop a set of calves many in the castle labeled "the pinnacle of masculinity." He let himself be proud of his looks for the first time in his life, at least until Murata teased him about it and threatened to force him into a pair of Wolfram's too-small shorts.

After his morning workout routine Yuuri took his bath (he had the water temperature lowered a bit, as the usual scalding heat he preferred didn't seem appropriate), sometimes with Wolfram when his fiancé could actually drag himself out of bed, but most of the times on his own. Bath time was followed by breakfast, which consisted of little more than fruit and buttered rolls (anything warmer would have been unappetizing). As a gesture of goodwill and something of a gift for his miserable fiancé, Yuuri introduced his friends to lemonade that year. Wolfram particularly enjoyed it (as Yuuri had suspected he would) and again took to complimenting him for his thoughtfulness and even, in a moment of heat exhaustion and delirium, repeated a few of the comments some of the maids had uttered about Yuuri's calves.

Seasickness was not Wolfram's only weakness, as Yuuri saw more clearly that summer than any before it. His fiancé apparently handled temperature extremes very poorly, he tired easily, and he suffered from the occasional dizzy or fainting spell that Yuuri suspected stemmed from a case of low blood-pressure. Gisela was a frequent guest in their room during those hot, hot days, checking Wolfram's heart and other vital signs (which didn't help Yuuri's anxiety levels at all when he remembered how big of a deal Wolfram's heart had been during that whole mess with the forbidden boxes).

"He's going to be okay, right?" he asked on one such afternoon.

Wolfram was on the bed, wearing a tiny, frilly lavender pajama set of shorts and a short-sleeved top, with nothing more than a single thin sheet pulled over top of him as he lounged (more like slumped) against the pillows. Greta and Lady Celi sat with him, fanning him with decorative paper fans and occasionally passing him a glass of cold lemonade, which he chugged down like liquid life. Gisela had just finished examining him again, and Yuuri was so distracted by Wolfram's abysmal state that he didn't even notice that she'd discarded her uniform jacket at some point and was thus providing him with a rare look at her cleavage.

"Yes, Your Majesty, it will pass," she reassured him with a kind smile. If Gisela ever speculated that Yuuri might sometimes fantasize about her, she never let him know it.

"And this happens a lot?" Yuuri clarified.

"On exceptionally hot days, yes, Lord Wolfram has been known to suffer random spells of ill-health."

"So it's completely normal."

"Yes, Your Majesty," she repeated, "this is normal for Lord Wolfram."

"Okay," he said, and tried to do something other than stand there like a worthless ass and watch his fiancé suffer.

He learned to adopt a bit more concern for Wolfram that summer, not only when it came to the things he did to cause Wolfram sadness and pain, but also when it came to Wolfram's general health and well-being.

Yuuri did what he could to see that Wolfram was comfortable and sufficiently entertained. Their room was never without a pitcher of lemonade, and later iced tea (which Conrad suggested as a suitable alternative, and which Wolfram enjoyed just as well). He put damp washcloths over Wolfram's forehead, he brought books from the library for Wolfram to read, and had some of Wolfram's soldiers stop by to play cards or board games with him when Greta was busy and Lady Celi threatened to start smothering her son. He rambled about his paperwork and his many meetings, and let Wolfram comment about this or that, but Wolfram was tired and listless and Yuuri began to seriously consider shipping him off to Earth for the duration of the summer, where Wolfram could sit in the comfort of his parents' air-conditioned home and pig out on chocolate cake and ice-cream in front of the television.

Finally—when it seemed as if he would have to do just that in order for Wolfram's condition to improve—Yuuri ordered Anissina to move one of her fan-like inventions from her laboratory into his bedroom. He didn't know why he hadn't thought of it before, and could only blame his worry for preventing him from thinking straight, but as soon as the transfer was made Wolfram smiled one of his "you're the greatest guy I've ever met" smiles, and Yuuri knew he'd done something right.

He began to look at Wolfram in a different way—certainly not sexually (no, that wouldn't come until much later), but before he'd seen him as a spoiled brat who threw childish temper-tantrums, or as a snobby prince who looked down his nose at everyone, or as a forceful soldier looking for a fight. Now he looked at Wolfram and saw someone who (at his core) was tough and cultured, but whose true excellence was limited by a variety of circumstances beyond his control. Wolfram was a strong, vibrant soul stuck in a scrawny body hampered by a few inconvenient ailments. If Wolfram never matched the military prowess of his older brothers, it wasn't for lack of trying, but because he hadn't been blessed with the same physicality.

Yuuri figured that was why Wolfram had always focused more on his magic, and why, unlike Gwendal and Gunter, he relied on it so much. He could still kick Yuuri's ass in a duel (no problem there), but he was a soldier more for his fire than for his sword.

He could tell it frustrated his fiancé even when Wolfram pretended otherwise. He didn't think it was necessarily because Wolfram _wanted_ to be a soldier (sometimes he wondered what Wolfram would do with his life if he ever felt he had a choice in the matter), but because that was what he _was_ now and it was what was expected of him as the scion of an aristocratic family, and what Wolfram really wanted was to live up to the expectations placed before him. Yuuri imagined it had been the same when his fiancé had been a prince—he didn't doubt that Wolfram had tried to be the best prince he possibly could—and he thought, if they ever did marry, that Wolfram would do everything in his power to be the greatest Prince Consort the kingdom had ever seen.

He liked that about Wolfram, that he was passionate and put all of himself into everything he did. Wolfram took the many roles he'd been challenged to fill throughout his life—prince, soldier, and fiancé—and he bettered himself through them and, in the process, bettered those around him.

Yuuri hoped it would work on him—that some of what made Wolfram so extraordinary would eventually rub off, and he could be extraordinary, too.

The sort of king his people and his country and his friends deserved.

Because if he could do that, he thought he might be able to understand what Wolfram meant about fulfillment.

* * *

><p>There came a day quite late in the season—when the days were still scorching but the nights were bearably warm—that Yuuri knew true fear for himself and his manhood for the first time since he told Wolfram about Hashimoto.<p>

He was outside with Conrad after hours of tedious paperwork. Gwendal had eventually left him to his own devices (when his Chief Adviser had left the office with shifty eyes and a few strange hand motions like he was handling a pair of invisible knitting needles, Yuuri knew the man would be making a stealthy visit to Anissina's lab to sip at some liquor while sitting in front of one of her fans). Yuuri had learned to question these sorts of things, since it left him with the perfect opportunity to play a round of catch with his godfather.

"Hey, Conrad, have you noticed anything… odd today?" he asked.

Yuuri had seen signs of it all morning, little tell-tale indications that today was not a normal day. He knew the castle's inner workings by now—the maids' schedules, the soldiers' posts, the habits of his friends—so any small deviation would generally alert him to something going on without his knowledge.

It had started when he'd returned from his room after his workout to see that Wolfram was out of bed and already bathed, dressed in shorts and stockings and a dapper vest instead of the pajama sets and lounge clothes he'd been wearing since the temperature made its first dramatic rise.

"Uhhh… is something going on?" Yuuri had questioned him.

"What?" his fiancé responded, confused until he noticed Yuuri staring at his clothes. "Oh, no. Nothing for you to be concerned about."

Yuuri took his word for it since Wolfram didn't usually lie and could generally be depended upon to inform him of anything important, and after watching his fiancé settle himself on the daybed with a sketch book and some pencils Yuuri had brought as another gift for him, Yuuri shook his head, gathered some clothes, and went to soak in the bath.

Then he'd noticed the maids airing out one of the nicer bedrooms close to the royal hall, bringing in fresh linens and vases of fragrant flowers as if they were expecting a visitor. Later, a set of Wolfram's soldiers were stationed to guard the door, leading Yuuri to believe that if they _were_ receiving a guest, he or she must be someone important.

He considered that it might be Waltorana, but he was pretty sure he would have known about that since Waltorana usually only came when invited or if there was business to attend to, and Yuuri certainly hadn't heard of anyone extending an invitation to him, and the aristocrats hadn't had a joint meeting in weeks. (Probably because of the man in question, who, like Wolfram, didn't seem to be handling the weather very well, leading Yuuri to believe that Wolfram had inherited his particular constitution from his father's side and not his mother's.)

Presently, Conrad observed Yuuri with what Yuuri thought was somewhat of an amused and secretive smile.

"Odd?" he wondered. "What do you mean, Your Majesty?"

"I mean, it seems like everyone's expecting someone, but I haven't heard about anyone coming," Yuuri replied.

"If that's the case, then it must be a personal visit."

"Yeah, but for who?"

"I'm afraid I don't know, Your Majesty," Conrad said.

Yuuri looked at him closely and thought his godfather might be lying.

Conrad was a crap liar.

"You know, I thought since I'm the king you guys would tell me everything."

"Unfortunately, that's a very idealistic view of things," Conrad responded. His smile had grown wider and his eyes were doing that twinkle thing that made it look like he was laughing on the inside. "Information is typically passed on a need-to-know basis."

"Okay, then who thinks don't need to know who's coming?" Yuuri asked.

"That would be Gwendal and Wolfram, I do believe."

"And why would Gwendal and Wolfram think that?"

"With Wolfram I assume he thought it wasn't important enough to distract you from your work by discussing it with you, and with Gwendal… well, I think perhaps he might still feel a bit vindictive."

"V-Vindictive?" Yuuri repeated. Gwendal and "vindictive" in the same sentence was never a good sign for anyone. In his sudden concern, Yuuri fumbled the baseball he'd been about to throw. "Why would Gwendal feel vindictive?"

"I can only make an educate guess, Your Majesty."

"Then guess!"

"I believe Gwendal feels distressed on Wolfram's behalf."

"_Why_?" Yuuri clamored, and then made a guess himself. "Because of Hashimoto and Lady Flynn?"

"Yes, I believe so."

Conrad seemed _way_ too amused by this. Usually Yuuri liked it when Conrad was amused, because it meant they could joke around and have fun, but this situation was much different and Yuuri was beginning to feel like everyone was in on the joke but him.

"And why didn't _you_ tell me?" he requested.

Conrad actually laughed this time. "Because Gwendal swore me to silence."

"Well, I'm unswearing you! Right now!"

He was too late.

The grinding of the portcullis being raised interrupted their conversation. Yuuri looked at Conrad with a mix of terror and confusion and then walked around to the front of the castle to watch a few foot soldiers and stable hands scurrying around as a handsome carriage wheeled through the front gate, pulled by four magnificent horses. He didn't recognize it, nor could he see inside, as the curtains were drawn to shield the occupant from the bright sunlight, but one of the flags waving above it bore the coat of arms of the Spitzweg family, so Yuuri knew whoever it was must somehow be associated with them.

It couldn't be Stoffel. There wouldn't have been so much effort put into concealing a visit from Stoffel.

But who else…?

Suddenly the image of Stoffel morphed into that of his right-hand man, which morphed into a figure who was _not_ a man, but who certainly knew how to bring one to their knees.

"Oh no…" Yuuri breathed.

A foot soldier approached the carriage after it came to a stop. The soldier opened the door and held out his hand. Yuuri saw another hand reach out to grasp it—a pale, thin, elegant hand.

A lady's hand.

"Oh no…"

"Ah," Conrad said, coming up beside him. "It seems she's arrived."

A foot followed the hand, then the skirt of a dress, then a fitted bodice, then the face of death.

A pretty girl allowed herself to be helped from the carriage—a girl Wolfram's age, with dirty blond hair and purple eyes. She shot a smile in Yuuri's direction, but it looked too sweet to actually _be_ sweet.

"Oh no…" Yuuri whimpered.

His worst fear had arrived.

The funny thing was that he hadn't even realized it was his worst fear until he was faced with it.

He thought Wolfram after Hashimoto had been bad; something told him _that_ incident was going to seem like nothing compared to _this_.

Because Elizabeth (Wolfram's friend and champion) was here to defend the boy she'd loved all her life.

And Yuuri knew that this time he was _definitely_ fucked.

**TBC…**

* * *

><p><strong>AN: ** Occasionally, I entertain the thought of exploring a non-sexual but still very loving and deeply romantic relationship between Yuuri and Wolfram, as I think it is quite possible and might actually suit them rather well, and while I have considered taking this story in that direction, especially as I wrote this part over the last week, I inevitably decided to continue in the direction I intended to follow from the beginning.

So they will have a physical relationship at some point. There may be tiny bits of the beginning of one in the next chapter.


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Kyou Kara Maou or any of its characters.

**Beta-ed by:** G

**Warnings:** Overall there's language, references to minors having knowledge of sex (however, all instances of sex within take place between consenting individuals who are sixteen or older), sexual activity, heterosexual sex, homosexual sex, masturbation, novel spoilers, mixing of novel, manga and anime canon for my own benefit, blatant infidelity (I know, QQ), most likely some OOCness (Yuuri's kind of a dick), violence, joking references to mpreg, maybe some voyeurism, probably a few others that I can't think of off the top of my head.

**Pairings(s):** In this chapter we have graphic Yuuri/Elizabeth (I will not lie and say I'm sorry XD; ), references to one-sided Elizabeth/Wolfram (as well as past Yuuri/Hashimoto and Yuuri/Lady Flynn), blatant allusions to Gwendal/Anissina, minor Murata/random-shrine-maiden, and teeny, tiny little inklings of Yuuri/Wolfram.

**Setting:** A few days in the hot, hot summer of Yuuri's 22nd year.

**Rating:** M, most definitely.

**A/N:** Technically I am not off of my hiatus. XD; But I managed to get enough written to equal another part, so I figured there's no reason not to post it. Here we have a humorous beginning, and then Yuuri at his lowest (action-wise and emotion-wise).

As always, a huge, heartfelt "thank you" to all my readers! You guys are so awesome!

Also, I feel like I shouldn't have to say this, but apparently I do. _This is not a story about Wolfram._ This is also not a story about Wolfram getting revenge on Yuuri by hurting Yuuri the way Yuuri's hurt him. If he tried that they would honestly have no business being together, because that's just as petty as some of the things Yuuri's done. "Revenge" is not an excuse to cheat. Period. Wolfram is not going to turn around and have any sort of relationship with someone else just because of what Yuuri's done. That would make him no better than Yuuri. If you don't like reading about Yuuri messing up, and if you don't like Wolfram being hurt due to Yuuri's actions, not only do I not know what you're doing watching the series (because it's not like Yuuri's professing his undying love for Wolfram there), then I would suggest hitting the back button and not reading this fic.

* * *

><p><em><strong>The Happy Life<strong>_

by Mikage

**Part Four**

Yuuri managed to (mostly) avoid Elizabeth for exactly two days, one hour, twenty-seven minutes, and six seconds.

As soon as he saw her, and as soon as he realized why she must be there (to seek revenge where Wolfram would not), he turned and ran into the castle in a manner not unlike Gwendal's many escapes from Anissina, leaving his baseball and glove behind with nothing more than a hissed "stall her" to his godfather.

Then he searched desperately for a place to hide.

His first stop was Anissina's lab, where Gwendal sat in a cushioned chair in front of one of her fans drinking a glass of some amber colored liquid with ice. This wasn't strange at all, as Yuuri had guessed it to be his Chief Adviser's intention when Gwendal had left him in his office. No, the strange part was that Anissina was actually there, and instead of cackling like a maniac and strapping Gwendal up to peculiar looking, potentially deadly devices of her own creation, she stood behind his chair with her hands on his shoulders, rubbing them as if giving him a massage.

Her head was positioned very close to Gwendal's the minute Yuuri burst in, and he thought she might have been doing something none-to-innocent involving her mouth and tongue to one of Gwendal's ears.

Gwendal jumped as the door crashed against the wall, and his face turned a color Yuuri was used to seeing on Wolfram when he teased him about sex. Anissina just straightened behind him with a boastful sort of smirk and kept her hands right where they were on his shoulders.

"_What are you doing_?" Yuuri half-bellowed half-squealed.

"_That is none of your concern_!" Gwendal roared back.

"But… but you… you and her…" Yuuri tried to explain and found himself at a loss for words. He merely lifted a hand to point between the two of them.

"Is there a problem, Your Majesty?" Anissina asked, her smirk turning into a humorous grin. She leaned around to put her face very close to Gwendal's again.

Gwendal took a large gulp of his drink.

Yuuri gaped at them and wracked his brains for the real reason he was there. It didn't take him very long to remember, and when he did he pointed an accusing finger at his Chief Adviser.

"You didn't tell me Elizabeth was coming!"

Gwendal met his eyes with a look that was clearly unimpressed. "Is that an issue, Your Majesty?"

"Are you _crazy_? You knew she was coming and you didn't _tell me_?"

"Forgive me, Your Majesty. I didn't think it was necessary."

Yuuri knew Gwendal was only pretending to be apologetic. His Chief Adviser looked like he was trying to restrain a satisfied smirk. He and Anissina looked really creepy with their smirking faces side-by-side like that. Yuuri actually took a step back.

"She's going to kill me!" he exclaimed.

"Killing you would be against the law."

"Then she's going to cut my balls off in my sleep!"

"Is that so?" Gwendal wondered, lifting his glass for another drink, causing the ice to slosh around and clink inside. He didn't sound as if he found the idea too terribly distressing.

"You did this on purpose!" Yuuri alleged.

"Pardon me?"

"You!" Yuuri said, pointing his finger at him again for emphasis. "You did this on purpose! You knew Elizabeth was coming to see Wolfram and you made sure I didn't know about it, because you're pissed that I'm a pig or a manwhore or whatever you think I am now, and you secretly hope she does something horrible to me to get back at me for all the stuff I've done to Wolfram!"

"What have you done to Wolfram?" Gwendal asked as if he had no idea, though it was obvious that he did.

"Shut up, okay? I know I'm a jackass! You don't need to do this to make a point!"

Gwendal let out a sigh that was forcibly exaggerated. Yuuri had always known that Gwendal could be terrifyingly vengeful to his enemies, but now he also realized his Chief Adviser could be a total _ass _to his friends.

"Why are you here, Your Majesty?"

"I want you to tell me where you hide when you're running from Anissina!" Yuuri said.

It seemed weird to say it when Gwendal and Anissina were positioned rather close to one another in the very same room, where Gwendal clearly _wasn't_ hiding, but Yuuri was sure it would only get weirder the more he let himself think about it, so he cut off that train of thought right then and there.

"I hide in her bedchamber, Your Majesty," Gwendal replied smoothly. His face turned only slightly pink.

If Yuuri had looked away, he would have done a double take. Since he didn't, the only thing he could do was continue to gape.

"… _what_?"

"Her bedchamber, Your Majesty," Gwendal said again. "I hide in her bedchamber."

Yuuri sputtered as his brain began to supply him with perplexing images of what they must _do_ in her bedchamber while Gwendal was "hiding" there. "I heard you the first time!" he screeched. Then, before he could think better of it and stop himself, he asked, "Why do you hide in her _bedroom_?"

Gwendal's face might have darkened in color, but the tone of his voice remained the same. "It is usually far easier to distract Anissina in her bedchamber than it is to do the same in her lab," he replied.

Some part of Yuuri thought this was all well and good; he'd once thought Gwendal should just get over it and have sex with Anissina anyway. Another part of him was scared and disturbed and suddenly wondered if he should start worrying about little baby Gwendals running around one day.

He could just imagine them brandishing paperwork at him with their chubby little fists, cackling just like Anissina was now.

Yuuri took a breath to straighten himself out and stand at his full height, squaring his shoulders and attempting to pull off looking down his nose. He kept his hand up and finger pointing at his Chief Adviser. He doubted he looked intimidating at all, as he'd never had much practice at it outside of transforming into some weird alternate personality that none of them even really understood.

"You just wait," he warned. "I'll get back at you one day. You just wait and see."

Then he stormed from the room before Gwendal could respond.

* * *

><p>Yuuri's next stop was a room few people would expect him to venture to on his own, and for that it seemed the perfect spot to set up camp and wait out Elizabeth's visit.<p>

He burst into the library just as he'd burst into Anissina's lab, sending the double doors crashing against the walls. Luckily, there was no frightening sight of another clandestine relationship to meet his eyes this time, as the only two people to be making use of the room at this time of day were Gunter and Gisela. They sat at one of the tables with a pitcher and glasses of iced tea between them, which they seemed to be using as a substitute for the usual hot afternoon tea. Both of them jumped up from their chairs when Yuuri entered—Gunter to fret about and Gisela to stand at attention.

"Your Majesty!" Gunter exclaimed.

"Gunter!" Yuuri responded.

"Your Majesty," Gisela greeted him with a tiny bow.

For the first time in the seven years that he'd known her, Yuuri thought about how he'd never seen Gisela curtsy.

He realized he was getting distracted again and shook the thoughts from his head before they could become any more distinct.

"Hi," he said, somehow sounding calmer than he truly felt.

"Your Majesty," Gunter began, "I'm afraid your lessons won't resume until tomorrow morning, unless, of course, you find yourself much too anxious to wait, in which case I'm sure I can think of something we've not yet covered."

"No!" Yuuri shouted—perhaps a bit too quickly, because Gunter instantly deflated. "I mean… no, that's not why I came here, but I'm sure it'd be very interesting, it's just that I-"

"As a matter of fact, just today I was fortunate enough to come by an intriguing study from the College of Theology in Rochfort, by a Mr.-"

"Actually," Yuuri announced, talking over him loud enough to successfully cut Gunter off, "I was just looking for a place to hide."

Gunter momentarily stopped talking to blink at him. "Why should you feel the need to hide, Your Majesty?" he asked. He moved closer to peer behind Yuuri but could not seem to find a reason for his distress. "Has Anissina been eyeing you?"

"No," Yuuri said, remembering the scene that had greeted him in her lab. He shivered. "No, Anissina seems pretty occupied right now."

"Has she captured Gwendal then?"

"Yeah. Yeah, you could say that."

"Perhaps I should attempt to aid his escape," Gunter suggested.

"Er… no," Yuuri told him. "I don't really think he _wants_ to escape this time."

"Oh my," Gunter observed. "Has she sedated him?"

"Uhhh, no, actually. They're sort of together."

"Well, of course they are, Your Majesty. Gwendal and Anissina have been friends since childhood, but if Anissina has been experimenting on him again, then I do think it would be best to put a stop to it."

"Yeah, but, see, I don't think her experiments are… er… all that bad… I mean… today, at least."

"Father," Gisela broke in. She looked between the two of them with a patient smile. "Perhaps we should allow His Majesty to explain what he really finds the need to hide from, since it appears Lord von Voltaire is not currently in eminent danger."

"Oh, yes," Gunter said, glancing from his adopted daughter back to Yuuri. "Yes, Your Majesty, please do tell us what seems to be the problem."

"Huh?"

Side-tracked by the conversation, it took a moment for Yuuri to remember what he was doing there and why. When he did, he couldn't believe he'd forgotten and told himself he wouldn't allow himself to become distracted again.

This was a matter of life and death, after all.

"Oh, yeah! Elizabeth's here!" he announced.

Gunter blinked at him again. "Why would you feel the need to hide from Lady Elizabeth?"

"Because she's going to kill me!"

"Your Majesty, forgive me, but I fail to see what reason, if any, Lady Elizabeth would have for committing regicide, which, I will remind you, was outlawed and classified as high treason by the king and council of aristocrats at the time of the Great One's-"

"Well, then she's going to do something really terrible to me, and Gwendal's in on it, and Wolfram either thinks she's completely innocent or that I'll deserve whatever she does, because neither of them bothered to tell me about it and now she's here and she looked at me with that sweet smile that really means she's going to torture me!"

Gunter almost looked like he was about to dive right in to another lecture, but just as he opened his mouth to do so he seemed to pause to consider Yuuri's statement. "Oh," he said. "Oh my. Whatever could you have done to cause her to look at you that way?"

"She's probably pissed that I cheated on Wolfram," Yuuri carelessly supplied.

There was a moment of silence in which Gunter's face took on a look of confusion.

"But, Your Majesty, you _haven't_ cheated on Wolfram," he said.

"Gunter, what are you talking about? Of course, I did. With Hashimoto and Lady Flynn!"

"H-Hashi…?"

"Hashimoto," Yuuri repeated. "She was my girlfriend on Earth."

"And… L-Lady Flynn…?"

Gisela looked between the two of them again and allowed her patient smile to slip into a worried frown. "Father, perhaps this conversation would be better left-"

"Yeah," Yuuri said. He hardly even noticed that Gisela was trying to stall the spread of this news. "Lady Flynn and I had sex."

Silence again. Gunter looked pale-faced and flabbergasted.

Gisela developed a weird sort of tick in her brow.

"Oh…" Yuuri said, realization dawning on him a bit too late—but, honestly, when was that anything new? "You… you didn't know."

"Y-You…" Gunter stuttered. "You… and… oh my…"

"No, Your Majesty," Gisela answered for him. "He didn't know."

And with that, Gunter slithered back into his chair in a faint.

Gisela moved to check on him, positioning him to be a bit more comfortable while using some of her magic in something of a calming effect. When she was done, she turned back to Yuuri with one of her tiny "I'm going to be nice but on the inside I'm thinking horrible things" smiles.

"Lord von Voltaire and Lord Weller thought it would be best to give Father a little more time to come to terms with the fact that you're… well, that you're growing up and experiencing the world as a man would," she explained.

"O-Oh," Yuuri said with a wince, looking at Gunter guiltily before switching his gaze back to Gisela. "But you knew?"

"Of course, Your Majesty. I've known from the beginning."

"But how?"

"I saw to Lord Wolfram's injuries after your fight," Gisela replied.

"So, wait, he talks to you, too?"

"Of course. Lord Wolfram and I have known one another since we were children."

Yuuri figured this made sense. Gunter and Lady Celi had apparently known one another for a long time, and even if he didn't know exactly when Gunter adopted Gisela, it seemed likely that she and Wolfram would have done a little growing up together. Added to that the fact that they'd both received instruction in healing from Julia, Yuuri supposed they'd had plenty of opportunities in which to develop some sort of a socially appropriate camaraderie between them.

"As for your current dilemma," Gisela continued, and Yuuri was once again brought back to the point of his coming here, "I assume you chose the library because it would normally be unlikely for you to visit unless you found yourself coerced."

"Right," he nodded.

"Doesn't it seem plausible to you that, if Lady Elizabeth does intend to find you, this would be the first place she'd look?"

"Uhhh, no. Why?"

"Oh, it's just that if I were looking for someone who was hiding from me, I'd start with the least likely place," Gisela explained.

"Since that would be the first place they'd think was safe," another voice said from behind Yuuri.

It was a sweet sounding young lady's voice, and it sent visible chills up Yuuri's spine.

He froze in place and stared at Gisela with his eyes so wide they actually hurt. She just smiled at him, and even though it looked like her normal smile, Yuuri thought it also looked very sinister. He was pretty sure Gisela would never do anything to cause him physical harm, but that didn't mean she'd try too terribly hard to stop other people from doing so if she happened to think he deserved it.

It was funny (actually, it really wasn't that funny at all) how everyone alternatively remembered and forgot that he was the king (and should therefore be respected utterly) whenever it suited their purposes.

Turning around was almost painful, but he did it all the same. Elizabeth stood there with her sweet-but-not-so-sweet smile on her face—almost like Gisela's except for the teeny, tiny little fact that Elizabeth had attacked him before where Gisela had not (and likely never would). If Yuuri wasn't so concerned about what Elizabeth intended to do to him, he might have thought that she looked exceptionally pretty, not too different than the last time he'd seen her six years ago, and she'd been pretty enough then.

Yuuri didn't know whether to be relieved or even more worried when he saw that Wolfram was with her. His brain was providing him with two different outcomes to this scenario. In the first, Wolfram did his duty as an honor-bound knight and fiancé of the king and defended Yuuri against Elizabeth's sudden and vicious attack. In the second, Wolfram stood back with an innocent sort of look on his face and pretended as if he had no idea what was going on (just as Wolfram had been pretending not to notice a lot of things recently) while Elizabeth sought revenge for him.

When Yuuri saw Wolfram sporting an expression of surprise and confusion, he panicked and reached for him as a drowning man would reach for a life preserver.

"Wolfram!" he exclaimed, forcing his mouth into a wide grin and approaching his fiancé to grab Wolfram's face between his hands. "Baby! Sweetheart! Angel face!"

The lower half of Wolfram's face was scrunched up and puckered due to the placement of Yuuri's hands, but the "kindly remove your hands from my person" look in his eyes was enough for Yuuri to know that Wolfram didn't appreciate the sudden fake sweetness dripping from Yuuri's voice.

"It's so good to see you out of bed!" Yuuri continued anyway. He figured the longer he kept it going, the less of a chance Elizabeth would have to butt in—and if he was lucky (though that seemed highly unlikely) then Elizabeth would believe his act where Wolfram did not. "You should try to sit outside later once the sun's set and it's not as hot out. You could probably use some fresh air."

Wolfram's eyes narrowed some more.

Yuuri laughed nervously. "Listen, I've still got some work to do, but once I'm done we can take a walk in the gardens or something."

He finally released Wolfram's face and turned to look at Elizabeth—although he didn't really look at her; he focused on some point behind her shoulder instead, as if refusing to make eye contact would be enough to spare him from an ugly end.

"It's great to see you again Elizabeth," he lied. He was proud of himself for keeping his voice cheerful, though. "Wolfram's probably happy to have some extra company."

"I am capable of speaking for myself," Wolfram pointed out.

Yuuri laughed again. "Of course you are, honey."

"H-Honey?" Wolfram sputtered. He seemed suitably confused. "Yuuri, what in the world-"

"Wish I could stay and chat, but I've really got to get going," Yuuri rushed to cut him off. He grabbed Wolfram by the face again—to the sound of his fiancé mumbling quiet curses—and pressed at quick kiss to his forehead.

Wolfram stared at him as if he'd grown a second head. Yuuri stared back as if he had no idea what he was doing anymore.

He really didn't. He wished he did, but apparently that was asking too much of the universe.

What he did know was that Elizabeth was drawing ever closer. If he intended to elude her—since no one in the room seemed to believe his sweet and supportive act for a second—he needed to get out of there fast.

"See ya'!" he said, pushing Wolfram to the side and directly into Elizabeth's path so as to make his way around them and out the library doors.

He left his fiancé, Elizabeth, Gisela and an unconscious Gunter behind.

He had no idea where he was going to hide next.

* * *

><p>One of the few perks of being king—aside from the wealth and the license to pretty much do whatever the hell he wanted—was that when Yuuri burst into the stables and demanded his horse be made ready for him at the top of his lungs, half a dozen or so stable hands immediately surged to action and prepared Ao for a ride in record time.<p>

One of the many disadvantages of being king—aside from the fact that his life wasn't really his own and he never had any privacy—was that when he went riding in an effort to escape from the castle for a while, half a dozen or so soldiers and guards immediately jumped to attention and followed him so as to prevent another kidnapping (not that their presence had really been invaluable in doing so before).

It meant he could leave the castle fairly easily, and quite quickly, but it also meant he couldn't trust people not to tell certain other individuals where he was going. Swearing them to silence usually only worked for about as long as it took Gwendal to get his hands on them and intimidate them into talking with the power of his ruthless glower.

In the end, there were very few other places Yuuri could go to preserve his life and sanity save from throwing himself into one of the fountains and escaping to Earth, and while this option was severely tempting he also knew Elizabeth would only wait for him to come back.

And as he had work to do and absolutely no desire to abandon his people and his kingdom on account of his fear of one woman, Yuuri would naturally have to return.

With no other place to hide, he turned his sights on the Great One's Temple and rode toward it as if his very life depended on it, swearing the guards to a silence he didn't expect them to keep and ordering the shrine maidens to let no one else in—not Gwendal or Wolfram or Gisela or Lady Celi, and certainly not Elizabeth—for the duration of his stay.

Then Yuuri did what he did best and barged in on Murata mid-sexual escapade.

"Murata, I need your help!" was all he said to announce his arrival, though the doors slamming open should have been announcement enough. It was, after all, something of a signature move by this point.

In surprise that couldn't even appropriately be deemed surprise given that Murata could generally predict Yuuri's actions and tended to know what was going on in the kingdom long before Yuuri even had a clue, Yuuri's friend wrenched his suckling mouth away from the neck of one of the shrine maidens to settle upon Yuuri an expression of mild agitation. The fact that the shrine maiden wasn't even the same shrine maiden as last time was even less surprising than Yuuri's arrival. Yuuri had never known Murata to commit to an actual relationship. Murata claimed he was "enjoying his youth this time around." Yuuri thought it was merely a convenient excuse to be a prolific manwhore.

Some might call him jealous. Maybe he was. He did envy Murata the freedom to do whatever he wanted, because even though that privilege also extended to the king, Yuuri knew he would rarely ever take advantage of it if it meant hurting the people around him. He'd done that enough already. Murata, however, didn't seem to share that concern, probably because when people said they didn't care what he did, they meant it.

The same couldn't be said for Yuuri.

Unfortunately, his friend's patience seemed to be wearing thin. Murata's agitated looked appeared pretty genuine and he sighed as he reached for his glasses.

The shrine maiden looked rather embarrassed and marginally uncomfortable, releasing Murata to grab one of the sheets in order to conceal her nakedness. At any other time, Yuuri might have felt guilty and even a little embarrassed himself, because even though he sort of liked the sight of a naked woman (and she really was very pretty), he also tried not to make it a habit to barge in on one when he was unwelcome (his previous interruptions notwithstanding).

Murata got up in no more than his underwear—the Demon-Kingdom-nobility kind, which left absolutely nothing to the imagination and had slipped down in the back due to his fumbling with the shrine maiden and now revealed a small bit of his ass crack. Yuuri did a great job of not staring or feeling uncomfortable, but that was mainly because Murata had risen to confront him and even though Murata was scrawnier than him now, he still managed to have a good two inches on Yuuri in height.

Which frustrated him to no end, because it was only two damned inches and it wasn't like Yuuri was a _total_ pushover anymore (just a little one) and something like that should have absolutely no bearing on strength or prowess or masculinity or whatever inane part of Yuuri's subconscious it effected, but it still brought back all the memories of warming the bench in junior high school and never really being good enough at anything, and then he just felt like a stupid, worthless kid and his inferiority complex was triggered to remind him of everything he'd ever done wrong.

He was such an ass. He was stupid and immature and a horrible king and a terrible friend and he should just walk back to the castle with his head hanging and his tail between his legs and let Elizabeth do her worst, because he'd deserve every moment of it.

For once, Murata seemed to agree. "Shibuya, this has seriously got to stop," he said. "Can't you see I'm busy?"

There was still some of his usual amusement there, but mostly he just looked annoyed and frustrated, like a man about to score who'd just been cock-blocked.

Constantly being cock-blocked by your best friend must put a huge strain on your patience after a while.

Yuuri might have been able to sympathize if he still weren't expecting a sudden, gruesome death at any moment.

"Sorry," he had the grace to at least apologize, "but I need help. Elizabeth-"

"Lady Elizabeth is here and you think she's going to kill you," Murata finished for him.

"Y-Your Eminence," the shrine maiden nervously interrupted. "I… if this is important… I can come back later…"

"No, no, there's no need," Murata told her with a wave of his hand that might have looked dismissive if it weren't obvious he really wanted to get back to her. "Shibuya will be gone in just a minute."

"But Murata-" Yuuri tried.

He was interrupted again.

"The thing you need to realize, Shibuya, is that Lady Elizabeth _can't_ kill you. That's against the law. If she did, she'd be immediately arrested, thrown in the dungeon, potentially tortured for information _just_ to make _absolutely sure_ she really was working alone-"

"She can't be tortured," Yuuri corrected him. "Remember I signed that law outlawing the torture of women? And the Aristocrats want me to sign another one making it illegal to torture anyone within the nobility, but honestly I think we should just outlaw it altogeth-"

"Shibuya, focus," Murata said firmly.

Yuuri stopped, swallowed, and got his mind back on track. "Right, sorry."

Murata gave him a moment to see if he'd start rambling again, but when that didn't happen Murata consented to continue. "She'll be thrown in the dungeon, put on trial for high treason, and likely burned at the-"

"That's outlawed, too."

"Hanged, then."

"But even if she's punished for it, I'll still be dead," Yuuri pointed out, eyes wide with terror. "Come on, Murata, this is a serious threat to my safety here. She's already almost killed me once. You think she won't try it again now that she has a better reason?"

"I think she's smarter than that, yes," Murata answered with a nod.

"But she came to get revenge on me for what I did to Wolfram," Yuuri insisted.

"_Or_," Murata countered, "she's simply here to visit von Bielefeld. Weren't the two of them friends long before you even came into the picture?"

"Yeah, but-"

"So don't you think you could be overreacting?"

"No, she-"

"I think you're just projecting your guilt again," Murata told him. "You expect the worst because you think you deserve the worst."

"But, Murata-"

"Y-Your Eminence," the shrine maiden tried again. "If this is really too much trouble…"

"No, there's no need," Murata repeated. "Shibuya is leaving us now."

"What?" Yuuri gaped.

Murata grabbed him by the shoulder, turned him around with surprising strength, and ushered him back to the door.

"This is the part where you reflect on your actions and do some serious thinking," Murata said. "It's time for you to figure out what you're doing. I can't do that for you, and to be honest it gets a little tedious when you keep barging in like this. A man has needs, Shibuya. You can't expect me to just drop everything the minute you need more relationship advice."

"But… but this isn't about a relationship!" Yuuri exclaimed.

"Isn't it?" Murata wondered. "It's about you and von Bielefeld."

"It's about Elizabeth being pissed off and trying to kill me!"

"Again, Shibuya, totally illegal."

"Okay, fine! Then she'll hurt me!" Yuuri clamored on, gripping onto the doorframe to prevent Murata from shoving him through. "Come on, Murata, just tell me what to do!"

"I did. Go think about it. You need to figure out what's more important to you."

"My _life_ is important to me!"

"What part of it?" Murata wondered. "The part where you follow my lead and have indiscriminate sex with a number of different women-"

"Hey, I've only ever had sex with two!"

"-or the part where you actually give a damn about how von Bielefeld feels, but you're too scared to actually think that it might mean more than you've been letting yourself believe?"

Yuuri stopped his struggling to stare at Murata in confusion. "What is that supposed to me-"

Unfortunately for him, Murata took the opportunity to shove him out of the room and slam the door in his face. A click resounded in the emptiness of the hallway to alert Yuuri to the fact that the door had just been securely locked.

"Murata!" Yuuri shouted, lifting a fist to pound on the door. "Come on, Murata! You can't just leave me out here!"

In-between his shouting and pounding, Yuuri heard the shrine maiden ask, "Are you sure it's advisable to do that, Your Eminence?"

Yuuri didn't hear Murata's response, but the giggling and moaning he heard a few seconds later was enough to clue him in, and he realized Murata really _was_ just going to leave him there to deal with his own problems. Instead of helping, Murata intended to ignore him completely and get right back down to business.

A particularly loud and exaggerated moan being issued from the back of his traitorous friend's throat was enough to send Yuuri scampering down the hall.

This was turning out to be a disastrous day.

* * *

><p>Yuuri knew the minute he stopped running that Elizabeth was bound to find him, no matter what obstacles he attempted to place in her way.<p>

He passed his time in the Great One's Temple being ignored by Murata and taking up residence in one of the guest rooms the shrine maidens prepared for him out of pity. A few of them even offered the pleasure of their company, and though Yuuri might have actually considered it had the circumstances of his visit been less serious, he wasn't about to give Elizabeth the chance to barge in on him mid-indiscretion. She already had enough to hate him for without actually seeing it with her own eyes. He was honestly surprised she hadn't flambéed him the minute she stepped foot out of her carriage.

Plus, the thought of having sex with someone he barely even knew didn't appeal to him the way it seemed to appeal to Murata. Yuuri thanked them (awkwardly) for their generosity and then locked himself away to reflect on the last seven years.

Elizabeth came for him on the evening of his second day.

He knew it was her the moment he heard the knock on the door. It couldn't have been Murata, who would have made some obnoxious comment from the other side of the barrier, and even though it could have just as easily been one of the shrine maidens coming to check on him or bring him food, there was a certain finality to the noise that precluded that possibility.

Elizabeth had found him, and she had come for him, and he now had to choose between jumping out the window and hoping the fall didn't kill him or squaring his shoulders and facing her like a man.

He picked the latter only because he didn't expect he'd be able to run from her for much longer, and he valued his life too much to risk jumping.

He wondered if the shrine maidens had put him on one of the upper floors on purpose. It would be just his luck if they were in on this, too.

Taking a steadying breath, Yuuri straightened his back and lifted his head with a confidence he didn't really feel as he approached the door and swung it open before he could change his mind.

As he expected, Elizabeth stood on the other side, dressed in red and looking every bit as dangerous as he remembered. She had another small, sweet smile on her face, but her eyes sparked with annoyance and outrage, a clear indication that she did not appreciate being avoided when there were matters of great importance she wished to discuss with him.

If her intentions could even be labeled a "discussion." Yuuri thought "interrogation" or "torture" might be more apt.

"Your Majesty," she greeted him civilly enough.

Yuuri cleared his throat and did his best to keep his head up. "Elizabeth," he replied.

"_Lady_ Elizabeth would be more appropriate."

"Right," Yuuri agreed, as he really had no other response to that. "Sorry…"

She looked over his shoulder into the room as if she expected him to move aside and permit her to enter. When he didn't, she locked eyes with him again and stared at him imperiously.

It was such a Wolfram-like expression that Yuuri felt momentarily uncomfortable. The two were so similar in so many different ways Yuuri wondered what it would have been like if Elizabeth and Wolfram actually _had_ been married. Either they'd have the happiest relationship known to man, or the constant proximity would put them at each other's throats in an eternal struggle of wills.

Imagining that put more disturbing thoughts in his mind, and Yuuri forced them out before they could develop too clearly.

Now was not the time for that.

"Inviting me in would also be appropriate," Elizabeth said after they stood in silence for an uncomfortable minute.

Yuuri almost stepped aside. It wasn't polite to keep her in the hallway when there were comfortable seats just inside, but he also didn't want to make things too easy for her. No matter how much he thought he deserved whatever revenge she'd planned for him, he couldn't squash the instinct to stand his ground.

Maybe she had a right to be angry about Hashimoto (if she even knew about that), but Wolfram had told him he could be with women if he wanted to after that. He should have done a few things different with the incident involving Lady Flynn; he should have been more considerate and more discrete and tried to spare some of Wolfram's feelings, but was it really so wrong when Wolfram had _said_ he could, when the engagement was barely even intact and they both operated under the assumption that it might not even last much longer?

Elizabeth didn't have to like it. She didn't have to understand it, or even like _him_ if she didn't want to, but she had to learn to live with it.

If Wolfram could accept the idea, if he could get over his disappointment long enough to acknowledge what he and Yuuri had both always known, then Elizabeth could find some way to deal with it, too.

"I actually don't think that would be very appropriate," Yuuri replied. He tried to keep his voice level and stern instead of caving to his discomfort and mumbling the rest. For once, he managed to do an okay job of it.

Elizabeth appraised him with mild interest and quirked a brow in curiosity. "Why, Your Majesty," she said, feigning a tone of surprise, "do you not trust yourself alone with me?"

Yuuri gave a start and noticed the previously sweet smile on her face had turned almost seductive. He swallowed nervously but didn't fool himself into believing she meant it. She wouldn't, of course. How could she? If anything she was trying to bait him along, deriding his poor behavior by trying to make some sort of a point, trying to prove him weak and insatiable and incapable of restraining himself, like the mere sight of any pretty woman was enough to make his stray.

As if he would actually sleep with _her_ of all people.

No, that would be crossing a line even he knew to stay well away from.

Or, at least, he thought he did.

Not wanting to answer the question or give her the satisfaction of thinking she'd gotten them better of him, Yuuri moved back to allow Elizabeth to take a few steps into the room. She closed the door behind her once she crossed through and looked at him as if she expected him to offer her a seat. He didn't. Letting her make herself comfortable would probably be a bad idea. Letting her in the room in general had probably been a bad idea, but he couldn't run from her for the rest of his life. The least he could do was keep her at the door.

That was safe, right? That was impersonal.

"What do you want?" he asked once he'd managed to clear an anxious lump from his throat.

"Oh, I think we both know the answer to that," she replied, smirking at him in a very Wolfram-like fashion.

Only he hadn't seen Wolfram smirk like that in a very, very long time.

Seeing it on Elizabeth's face… Yuuri realized he missed it.

"If this is about Lady Flynn," Yuuri began, seeing no reason to avoid the issue now that she had him cornered, "you don't have to go through the trouble of harping at me for it. Wolfram and I have already sorted things out."

"So it's true then?" Elizabeth wondered. She didn't look very surprised, but the resigned tone of her voice seemed to suggest that she hadn't been entirely certain of the truth behind the statement until now.

"Uhh, is what true?" Yuuri asked.

"It's true you had intimate relations with Lady Flynn of Caloria."

Yuuri didn't know why it seemed so hard for some people in this world to just say "sex" instead of coming up with various other terms for it. He didn't have very long to think about it, though, considering the rapid rate with which his surprise and confusion made itself known.

"Wait, you didn't know?"

"I'd heard rumors," Elizabeth explained. She didn't look any more agreeable than she had when she first arrived. Instead, the news gave her even more of a reason to look at him as if he were nothing more than a worthless sac of garbage.

Yuuri couldn't say he entirely disagreed.

"So…" he began again, "... so Wolfram didn't tell you?"

"Wolfram only tells me what he thinks I need to know," she answered.

"And he didn't think you needed to know that?"

"Did he think I needed to know about your engagement?" Elizabeth asked.

Her expression grew somewhat bitter as she said it. Her eyes narrowed, but not necessarily at Yuuri. She almost looked hurt by her lack of knowledge on the subject. Considering how much she seemed to care about Wolfram, and how passionate she'd been about marrying him before, Yuuri supposed it would only be natural for her to feel as if she were being left out of the important parts of her best friend's life.

Wolfram was such a private individual—moody and unpredictable and prone and closing himself off. It was hard enough being his fiancé.

It was probably just as difficult being his friend.

"Maybe he just… didn't want to worry you," Yuuri tried. He was startled to realize that he actually almost felt bad for Elizabeth.

When he actually thought about it, it wasn't really her fault. She'd been the recipient of an accidental proposal the same as Wolfram had, and like Wolfram she'd convinced herself that it would one day end in a wedding. She'd spent her entire life believing that. She'd spent her entire life loving Wolfram, until the rumors of Wolfram's engagement to him and circulated, and she'd come to challenge Yuuri for Wolfram's hand. In the end, she hadn't really stood a chance. Wolfram had never felt the same way about her, and whether she'd won the duel or not, Yuuri was pretty sure his position as king made his proposal to Wolfram (no matter how much of an accident it had been) more valid in a court of law than an engagement unintentionally established between two children.

He could pity her for it, though. He pitied Wolfram. Sometimes Yuuri wished Wolfram had as much grace as Elizabeth had shown when she'd given Wolfram up to him that day six years ago.

But even then, he wondered if he'd really be satisfied. He wasn't satisfied now, when Wolfram had all but given up.

"I think we also both know that preventing my worry was the least of his concerns when he elected not to tell me," Elizabeth said.

"Why are you here then?" Yuuri wondered. "I mean, if he didn't tell you then he obviously didn't ask you here to get revenge or whatever."

Elizabeth laughed as if she found the thought amusing. "And here I thought you knew him so well," she observed ironically. "If Wolfram wanted revenge, Your Majesty, he'd seek it himself."

"But he didn't tell me you were coming…"

"I imagine he didn't think my visit was important enough to distract you from your duties."

"But Gwendal knew and he didn't tell me either," Yuuri argued.

"Yes, well," Elizabeth allowed, "with Lord von Voltaire, I do imagine he hoped I might frighten you into submission."

Yuuri moved his gaze off to the side and shifted in place as he muttered, "Yeah, well he was right about that."

Another amused round of laughter met his ears.

She seemed peaceful and unthreatening enough for a young woman who'd previously threatened his life, but Yuuri wasn't about to lower his guard completely. She'd clearly come here for a reason. She'd even followed him to the Great One's Temple for this little chat. Now all he had to do was find out what her intention had _really_ been, if it wasn't what he'd originally assumed.

"Why are you here then?" he asked again.

Elizabeth considered him with a serious stare. "Wolfram invited me," she said, letting her eyes sweep over him as if inspecting something unpleasant. "We haven't seen one another since the last time I visited the castle, and I suppose he wanted more company while he's been bedridden. He may be a relatively private person, Your Majesty, but even Wolfram is capable of feeling lonely. I imagine having a fiancé as faithless as you can be quite trying for someone of Wolfram's nature."

It was a purposeful dig and it stung. Yuuri flinched and failed to meet her eyes again.

"I gave him up to you," Elizabeth continued. She took a single threatening step forward, frown in place as her narrow eyes speared him with malice. "I gave him up to you and this is how you choose to behave?"

Yuuri had to force himself to look at her. "It's not really any of your business," he said.

There wasn't any heat in the comment. If he were to be honest with himself, he knew he'd been defeated the moment she stepped into the room. He could only satisfy himself with the thought that she hadn't been the one to defeat him. He'd done that easily enough himself.

As the saying went, he was his own worst enemy.

"It _is_ my business," Elizabeth contended. "_I gave him up to you_."

"But I didn't ask you to do that," Yuuri pointed out. "_I_ wanted to give him up to _you_. I thought I had. I thought you'd be better for him than I was."

"So you'd rather place the blame and the responsibility onto someone else instead of facing it yourself?" she observed.

"I'm not blaming anybody! I'm telling you I wanted you to have him!"

"You proposed to him."

"It was a _mistake_!" Yuuri insisted, nearly shouting in his frustration. "It was an _accident_. I didn't mean to slap him any more than he meant to slap _you_!"

She might have flinched slightly, but she plowed on as if his comment and no other effect on her. "You've let it drag on for seven years."

"Because _Wolfram_ hasn't let me break it!"

"You know that's not the case, Your Majesty. You could have broken it without his consent, but you chose not to," Elizabeth pointed out.

"I didn't want to hurt his feelings!" Yuuri said.

"And you're not now?" she challenged, taking another step closer, seething at him as her bitterness and her anger grew. "This doesn't hurt his feelings at all?"

If Elizabeth weren't shorter than him, they would have been standing nose-to-nose. Instead, Elizabeth was forced to look up at him. Yuuri imagined it must frustrate her to do that. There was a confidence and a comfort level that came with height, he thought. It made it easy to face a challenge when you felt the odds were in your favor.

Not that he expected to be able to defeat her if this confrontation came to blows. He wasn't about to hit a girl if he could help it. Besides, she'd beaten him quite soundly the last time—could have killed him if Wolfram hadn't intervened and Yuuri's other half hadn't made an appearance.

Her eyes locked on him narrowly, burning with something that was almost like hate. Her breath fanned across his face, as hot as Wolfram's was in his anger, but Yuuri liked being cornered by Elizabeth much less.

He thought he knew how to handle Wolfram now—for the most part. Elizabeth was still very new and markedly unpredictable.

"You were right when you said Wolfram's capable of getting revenge himself," Yuuri told her, trying to steer her off the warpath without really knowing how. "So why don't you back off and let me and Wolfram deal with this ourselves? He doesn't need you to sort out his problems for him."

"No, you're right, of course," Elizabeth agreed as her frown became a sneer. "He needs you to sort out yours."

Yuuri's frustrations flared again. His fingers curled against his palms, forming his hands into fists he didn't dare make use of.

He knew better than that.

Then again, he'd known better than to do a lot of things, but that hadn't stopped him before.

"I can order you to leave," he said—the only threat he'd likely make.

"Yes, but you won't," Elizabeth countered, "because you know I'm right."

He said nothing in response to that, partly because he didn't want to give her the satisfaction of hearing him agree, but also because he didn't even know where the hell he was supposed to start when it came to sorting all this out.

Wolfram was depending on him to. A lot of people were depending on him to, but Wolfram most of all. Yuuri would be lying if he said he wasn't depending on it himself, yet the more he tried, the more he just couldn't do it. He didn't know what it was that was stopping him. He knew himself better than he had seven years ago, and he had a much better idea of what he wanted than he had when he'd been in high school, but the responsibility was still too much.

It was his responsibility and his alone. It had always been his. He knew that. From the moment he'd lost his temper and slapped Wolfram, this had been his problem to sort out and deal with. He could only blame Wolfram for so much of it. The rest lied squarely on his shoulders. It was up to him to figure out a solution, but after all this time he wasn't even capable of doing that.

Part of it was fear. He was afraid of what would become of them if he cast Wolfram off completely.

The rest of it was because he wanted so badly not to hurt Wolfram more than he had to.

They were friends. Yuuri didn't have to want him in order to care about him.

"I don't understand why you're not attracted to him," Elizabeth admitted, her accusing voice breaking through his thoughts. "It isn't as if Wolfram's not handsome."

Yuuri snorted and rolled his eyes. "'Handsome' isn't really the word I'd use there, but okay," he allowed.

"I'm not here to debate semantics with you, Your Majesty."

"Then why don't you go back to Wolfram and tell him what a dumbass I am?" Yuuri suggested. "Or better yet, why don't you go and try to marry him again? Oh, wait, sorry, I forgot he doesn't want you."

Elizabeth's glare darkened considerably at that. It seemed he'd left her speechless, which suited Yuuri just fine, even if he felt like a jerk for being mean and vindictive.

"How did you even get into the Temple?" he asked her in an attempt to divert the conversation. "I told the shrine maidens not to let anyone in."

"It seems as if His Eminence told them otherwise," Elizabeth tersely replied.

Yuuri's face fell into a very uncharacteristic scowl. "What the hell is the point of being king if no one listens to me when I want them to?" he snapped.

Maybe this wouldn't be so hard if the others would actually listen for once. So far all they'd really done was make this harder, except for Conrad who at least _tried _to understand, and Murata who usually ended up just making him feel even more confused.

How many different times had he told how many different people that he didn't want to marry Wolfram, and it took him having sex with a girl for them to finally get it? Honestly, what did he have to do to get through to some of these people?

"The point of you being king," Elizabeth said, "is to make sure your people are well taken care of and your kingdom prosperous."

"And I've _done_ that!" Yuuri countered, making a grand sweeping gesture with one of his arms as if to motion to all of his accomplishments. "It's been seven years and we're at peace! The humans and the demons are getting along! I found the demon sword! I found the demon flute! I destroyed the forbidden boxes! I've made a shit ton of allies with countries you never even would have bothered to talk to otherwise, and the only thing you people seem to care about is the fact that I fucked up and had sex with my girlfriend and Lady Flynn!"

Something flashed in the darkening purple of Elizabeth's eyes. "Must you be crude?" she asked.

"This isn't crude!" Yuuri argued. If she weren't so close, he might have jabbed a finger in her direction. Instead, there was nothing for him to do but drop his hand back down and stand there looking down his nose at her, trying to make it look as impressive as when Wolfram did it.

By the look on her face, he figured he was probably failing.

"Crude would be if I went around making dirty jokes or humping people in public or staring at your tits instead of in your eyes!" he continued. "Just because I'm not as uptight as you and Wolfram are when it comes to sex doesn't mean I'm crude or vulgar or whatever other insult you feel like throwing at me because your delicate sensibilities have been challenged!"

"So you'll resort to harassing me, is that it?" she wondered, raising an imperious brow.

It was like facing Wolfram all over again.

Yuuri had thought he was done with that. He'd thought they'd moved passed that, and here Elizabeth was trying to start it all up again, unable to let things rest and mind her own business when he wasn't living up to her standards or some bogus set of expectations he'd already proven himself incapable of meeting.

"You're the one harassing me, Elizabeth!" he shouted. "You're the one who followed me here! All I wanted was for you to leave me the hell alone!"

"I can't do that," she said. She'd yet to raise her voice as loud as his, but she got her general sense of loathing across rather well either way.

"Oh, right, because you're all pissed off that I cheated on Wolfram," Yuuri returned, bitter and resentful and tired of all the accusations being piled on him like he had no right to be confused or upset or want something other than what people wanted for him—or for themselves, as the case may be. "Well, I'm sorry, okay? I've apologized for it plenty of times already. I know I'm an asshole. I don't need you of all people to tell me that. So why don't you leave me the hell alone and let me fuck up in peace?"

"If you would give him a chance…"

"And why should I do that? Who says I haven't given him a chance already?"

"Don't pretend as if you're innocent, Your Majesty. You've never given him the chance he deserves."

"Maybe because I already know I don't want him!"

"And how could you possibly know that?"

"Because I like _women_!" Yuuri exploded. A tiny little voice in the back of his mind actually cheered when Elizabeth flinched back. "I don't know why you and everyone else can't get that through your heads! It's not like I can just flip a magical switch in my dick or in my brain and suddenly have the hots for a guy!"

"But you've never even considered Wolfram as a viable option," Elizabeth pointed out.

"Because he's _not_ one!"

"Perhaps if you would consider the idea instead of denying it outright…"

"I _have_, Elizabeth!"

"Have you?" she challenged him.

Yuuri's instinct was to give an immediate affirmative answer, but something made him stop as soon as he opened his mouth. He let his unspoken comment hang there for a few moments before clamping his mouth shut and glaring at his opponent.

She wasn't right. He didn't want her to be right, because then what did that say about him?

The truth was he _hadn't _ever tried to give Wolfram a chance. Of course, he never thought he'd had to. He'd known even before he'd started to have sex that he liked women. No, he hadn't been as interested as other guys his age until the time had actually come in his room that afternoon with Hashimoto, but he's still _known_ it. He'd never had to question that part of himself. He liked girls. He thought they were pretty and attractive and he'd always wanted them to look at him as someone worthy of dating. His attractiveness toward members of the opposite sex was tied directly to his inferiority complex—along with a slew of other things, but he had to admit having a girlfriend and feeling as if he were actually desirable had helped ease that a little bit.

He'd never bothered to wonder if there might be another part of himself still left to question. He hadn't wanted there to be. That would just be one more complication and one more issue on top of a pile of complications and issues that made up his life now. He didn't have the time or the luxury to waste on that sort of crisis, so he focused on what he knew instead of on what he didn't know. He was a king. He had millions of people depending on him every single day. He couldn't let more problems and more confusion arise where there didn't need to be any, because he liked women and he was content with that.

But even he had to admit he wasn't _satisfied_. There were brief periods in which he thought he could be. Being with Hashimoto had been a relief. He hadn't needed to care about anything. He hadn't even needed to worry about the consequences until they were actually upon him. And Lady Flynn… he could have fooled himself into believing she was the one if he hadn't come to his senses as soon as he had.

Wolfram wasn't like that. Wolfram was far more real than any of the fantasies he'd had about Lady Flynn, and far more present than anything he'd had with Hashimoto. There was something so final about Wolfram, about an engagement and a wedding he wasn't even ready for. With everyone else he could take his time, he could be free and figure himself out and not have to worry about the inevitable outcome, because he didn't even know what the outcome would be.

"I don't want to talk about this with you," Yuuri mumbled when he couldn't bear to follow that train of thought any longer.

Murata had told him it was time to figure things out on his own, but Yuuri didn't know how he was supposed to do that.

It was just _too much_. For once in his life, for once in the last seven years, he just wanted something easy.

Elizabeth's frown had not eased. "I suspect you don't want to talk about this with anyone," she observed.

"It's not any of your business either way," Yuuri reminded her.

"It's my business as long as Wolfram's involved."

"He doesn't even _want_ you messing around with this."

"If I don't he'll keep letting you do as you wish."

"Then maybe you should take a page from his book and butt the hell out!"

Her eyes appraised him again, sweeping up and down before returning to lock gazes with him. Her breath was still on his face, her body a little too close for comfort, the air between them a little too charged to be safe, but she was too proud to back away and he was too determined to fend her off.

"I don't understand what Wolfram sees in you," she said.

Yuuri almost flinched. He wanted to snap back, wanted to feign confidence and list all the things he'd ever suspected Wolfram appreciated in him other than the color of his eyes and hair, but the blow was too low and his self-esteem took a hit, and all the times he'd managed to feel good about himself went flying off as if they'd never even been there at all.

He was just a dumb kid, after all. He was just a moron pretending to be a king—a mediocre one at best, good enough to smile and laugh and work his unintentional charm on the world, but too stupid to really understand the sort of things he was getting himself into. The only thing he knew for sure was baseball, and that wasn't going to get him anywhere now, if it would have gotten him anywhere to begin with. He was good here because hardly anyone else knew how to play correctly. The competition was harder on Earth. He wasn't even confident enough to try out for the school team again. He'd played sandlot ball instead, with a bunch of other guys without the proper skill to make the cut anywhere else.

What did Wolfram see in him to keep him hanging on? What did anyone see in him? Hashimoto he could sort of understand, because she was a normal girl living a normal life, average in way he used to be and would likely never be again. But everyone else… what did he have to offer them? What could he provide them with that some other average schmuck couldn't?

Sure, he'd had some success. He could go through all of his accomplishments again, but he didn't know if he could feel pride in them now. So he'd found the demon sword. So he'd found some stupid recorder buried in some desert. So he'd bridged the gap between the humans and the demons and destroyed a couple of boxes along the way. Wasn't that simply because he'd gotten lucky? Because the Great One had orchestrated things that way? It was what he'd been born to do, wasn't it? So why should it be any great surprise that he'd actually done what the Great One had intended when he'd sent Conrad to deliver Julia's soul to Earth?

How did any of that make him strong and honorable?

How did any of that make him a good man?

"I didn't ask for _any_ of this," he said in a voice that was little more than a whisper.

Elizabeth inched ever closer, as if she could somehow force him to come to terms with whatever it was she wanted from him with her nearness and proximity.

"Well, it's time to be a man and deal with it, Your Majesty," she replied.

She was hitting him too low. He wasn't even sure she knew the sort of affect her words were having on him, but Wolfram had always been good at cutting him down and making him feel miserable and inferior, so it only seemed appropriate for Elizabeth to be able to do the same. She was so much like him. There was no physical resemblance, but as soon as she opened her mouth, as soon as she spoke to him with that same derisive tone, his memories sent him back seven years to the moment he and Wolfram first met, Yuuri on his ass on the ground and Wolfram on the stairs looking down at him with the expression on his face that told Yuuri he would always be weak and worthless and pathetic.

First it upset him, trying so hard to be the sort of person he'd always wanted to be—the sort of man who was worth all the praise and admiration people gave him for doing the very thing he'd been born to do—but he could never quite make it. He could never reach far enough, because in the end the only thing he was good for was being the pawn of some long-dead king and a tool for a better world, a sacrifice for the sake of others without a care for what he needed or what he wanted.

Then it made him angry.

None of this was fair—not Elizabeth or Gwendal or Murata or Wolfram or the engagement or the myriad of expectations he was forced to face every day.

Maybe it was up to him to grin and bear it and face it, battle his way through it and come out on the other side a better man.

But sometimes he didn't want that. Sometimes he was tired of being His Majesty King Yuuri of the Great Demon Kingdom, the Great One's Chosen One and Vanquisher of all Evil.

Sometimes he just wanted to be Yuuri.

Just a normal twenty-two year old guy with normal twenty-two year old problems.

"I don't know what to do," he admitted, so quietly he wondered if Elizabeth even heard him.

She did. Of course she did.

"Making an effort would be a decent enough start," she replied.

Her voice was soft and low and she was staring into his eyes like she could make him see reason through her gaze alone, and she was too close and her breath was still too warm on his face, and he thought he could see something that wasn't anger or hatred or revulsion in her eyes, but a veiled sort of interest she'd since kept contained, like he was a specimen to be observed and studied before she made a firm conclusion, and Yuuri was so angry with her and with himself and with everything that he didn't care what it meant or what would happen next.

All he wanted was for something to be simple.

All he wanted was for something to go right without falling apart later.

All he wanted was a release from the stress and the misery, an escape from the responsibility and the obligations and the horrible weight he carried around on his shoulders every single day of every single month of every single year.

He didn't care if it made him weak. He didn't care if it made him irresponsible.

He was only human. He wasn't perfect or divine or special in any way other than the fact that some dead king thought he'd be useful.

If he wanted to be more than that, he wouldn't even know where to begin.

"Stay out of this," he said.

His life was already complicated enough without Elizabeth shoving her nose into it.

Her eyes lowered to his mouth as he spoke. Yuuri thought he saw something else flicker on her face, something like anger tempered into a different sort of fire, and that was when he alarm bells started going off in his head and his brain warned him that this would be a very good time to back away.

At some point between all the shouting and the insults being thrown back and forth between them, Elizabeth's breathing had changed.

This was not good, a voice in Yuuri's mind told him. This was not good at all.

"Make me," Elizabeth challenged him, low and quiet and much too sultry to be all rage and disgust, "Your Majesty."

And then their mouths mashed together with a suddenness that should have been shocking but instead felt like the natural conclusion to this heated confrontation. The kiss itself was messy and forceful in a way that Yuuri had never experienced before, more about passion and resentment than any sort of pleasure or skill. First it was lips and grasping hands and hot, panting breaths. Then it was lips and tongues and teeth, prodding fingers, commanding palms and uncontrolled moans.

He didn't know where it came from or how it was even possible that it had devolved into this, but Yuuri let it happen without a second thought.

He was tired of thinking. He'd made enough dumb mistakes already. What was the harm in fucking up yet again?

At least this time he wasn't the only culprit. Hashimoto and Lady Flynn had each bourn a kind of innocence in their encounters with him and the resulting detriment it had caused to his relationship with Wolfram. Elizabeth didn't have the luxury of that sort of distance. In this she was just as culpable as he was.

There was a part of Yuuri that liked that, that enjoyed the fact that he didn't bear all of the blame this time.

It made the experience all the more thrilling.

Elizabeth's hands were on his shirt, tearing at the fabric so the buttons strained and threatened to pop off, before Yuuri forced the first few buttons through their respective holes and pulled the garment over his head. She panted for air, stared at him with her lips parted and her eyes dark with fervor, different than her anger but just as powerful, while her hands grasped at naked skin and her palms explored his torso with enthusiastic greed.

They moved together, mouths joining to nip and suck and lick as Elizabeth stepped back and Yuuri stepped with her, until Elizabeth's back hit the door and they could go no further. Then Yuuri pressed himself against her, chest to hip to thigh, and Elizabeth moaned low and deep the way Hashimoto did when he stuck his hand down her panties, and Yuuri knew there wouldn't be any stopping this. It had been three years since his last night with Hashimoto and one year since his single night with Lady Flynn—too long with too many frustrations and not enough chances for release.

It had always been easier this way.

When he didn't have to think, when he could just move and feel and be and not worry about anything but rushing forward, it was always easier and less complicated than the commitment everyone else expected from him.

The encounter was quick once they hit the door. One of Elizabeth's hands unfastened Yuuri's pants and pushed his underwear out of the way. Yuuri did his part and lifted the skirt of Elizabeth's dress, shoved a hand beneath it to discover the warm, damp folds between her legs, familiar only because he'd done this with two others before her. He touched her there, through her undergarments first, rubbing firmly until her legs spread to encourage more. He tugged at the strings that tied her underwear in place, pulled one side free and sent the other sliding down her leg, while his fingers played and stroked and explored, pressing outside, delving inside, sending Elizabeth's head back against the door as she moaned and shifted her hips in time with the vigorous motions of his hand.

By the time one of Elizabeth's legs lifted to hook around his hip, and her hands against his back jerked him closer, Yuuri was too far gone to pay any attention to the warnings his brain was still trying to issue.

Their mouths reattached themselves to one another, tongues battling one another as Yuuri thrust up into her and swallowed the eager moan from the back of her throat. Pinned to the door she may have been, but Elizabeth retained her own sort of power. One hand curled around the back of his neck, the other shoved into his hair, grasping tight and holding him in place as they rocked together, hard and quick and over-zealous, with all of the spontaneity of Hashimoto and none of the reverence of Lady Flynn.

The room filled with sound—the slap of skin on skin, the rattling of the door with each violent thrust, the gaps of their labored breathing, the moaning and groaning and hums of pleasure.

"Your Majesty…" Elizabeth whined. "Your Majesty… Your Majesty… Your Majesty…"

He hated it. No one had ever called him that during sex before. It had always been his name, not his title. "_Yes_, Shibuya!" or "Oh, _Yuuri_!" or "Yuuri… Yuuri… _Yuuri_!"

That was all he ever wanted to hear.

In bed he wanted to be a normal man.

He didn't want to be a king.

Each time Elizabeth said it he thrust into her harder, his fingers pressed in a bruising grip against her thigh, like he intended to punish her for reminding him of what he was instead of letting him live in a make believe world where he was normal and this meant nothing. He thought she might have known. She looked at him like she knew, smirked at him like she was goading him on and kept saying it between the wanton moans each assault and plunge of his erection wrenched from inside of her.

She came with the words on her lips, tossing her head back as she stiffened and arched against him, hands still grasping and mouth still gaping as her eyes stared into nothing but what Yuuri imagined was white heat and exploding stars, because his vision was overtaken by the same only moments after. He thrust in deep one last time before coming with a moan that sounded like relief.

They panted together in the aftermath, pressed to one another with Yuuri's forehead against the door over her shoulder, and Elizabeth's mouth puffing warm breath into his ear.

He heard her swallow hard, felt her shake with the aftershocks their brisk coupling sent throughout her body, smelt soap and perfume and sweat and the musk of sex.

"I don't know what Wolfram sees in you," she said again when she finally found her voice.

Yuuri laughed sadly and shut his eyes.

All the anger was gone. The only thing left was a guilt he was already far too familiar with.

"I don't know either," he said.

* * *

><p>He followed Elizabeth back to the castle.<p>

She looked at him every once in a while, leveling him with frustrated frowns and disappointed glares the sex hadn't forced out of her, but she didn't speak as they rode side by side. Yuuri didn't try to make her. He was content to look forward and watch the castle loom closer, to pretend as if nothing had happened and nothing was different, as if he didn't feel a horrible sense of guilt bubbling away in his gut like corrosive acid.

They took the back way, avoiding the main road and the commotion Yuuri's presence always caused when he rode through the capital. Even without a large retinue accompanied with standards bearing his royal sigil, Yuuri's coloring was far too recognizable to go unnoticed. For now he preferred to avoid the crowds and move under the radar, his indiscretions with Elizabeth still too fresh in his mind. He wasn't in the mood for the rumors that would swirl the moment anyone saw them together, practically alone but for the dozen or so guards that rode with them—half of which had followed him to the Temple and half of which had escorted Elizabeth after him.

If he had it his way, this entire thing would be covered up or forgotten and never spoken of again, but of course that was impossible. He couldn't trust Elizabeth not to bring it up whenever she felt the need to goad him. He expected her to hold the momentary slip in control over his head for the rest of his miserable life, as if she hadn't had anything to do with it and it was entirely his fault. It wasn't, but that didn't make him feel any better about it now, and he wasn't the sort of person to use it against her. He was a jerk and a moron but he wasn't that cold and heartless. Elizabeth wasn't either. She was capable of warmth and love, but anger made her mean the same as it did Wolfram.

Thinking about Wolfram made the guilt burn away at his insides. Thinking about what Wolfram might say, what he might think when he found out, made breathing practically excruciating.

No matter what Yuuri did to try to slow their progress, the rumors would circulate eventually. There were already too many witnesses. Murata had watched them quite deliberately as they'd left. and some of the shrine maidens were bound to have heard them. None of them had said anything about it, but Yuuri wasn't stupid enough to think that Murata didn't know, that the shrine maidens didn't know and weren't whispering about it as soon as Yuuri was out of earshot. The regret was probably evident on his face, and Elizabeth made no effort to hide the mingling of irritation, aversion, and satisfaction.

Yuuri continued to keep his silence even when they arrived. He slid from his saddle and ignored Conrad's concern as his godfather came to greet him, merely handed Ao's reins to one of the stable hands and made his way inside.

Elizabeth trailed close behind but left him once they came to her room. Yuuri refused to look at her and didn't say a word as she disappeared behind her door.

Conrad walked beside him, calm and composed, but worried. He looked like he knew what had happened, though whether the rumors were already spreading or whether Conrad simply _knew_ on instinct, Yuuri had no idea. He didn't much care to find out. Conrad's frown was sad, his eyes soft with concern and something like regret, as if he blamed himself for not guiding him better, for standing back and letting everything spiral so far out of control.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Conrad asked him quietly.

Yuuri shook his head as they came to the doors of the king's bedchamber. "No," he said. He couldn't help but notice how dull and numb his voice sounded. "I don't…"

Conrad's frown straightened out somewhat and his eyes grew slightly smaller, but he didn't argue. "Wolfram should be sleeping," he said instead. "He retired for bed shortly after dinner."

"Right," Yuuri acknowledged him. "Thanks."

He didn't know whether the comment was meant to relieve him or remind him of Wolfram's involvement.

And he was involved, much more deeply than before. Maybe Wolfram hadn't been physically present, but there'd still been a piece of him between Yuuri and Elizabeth. He was in Elizabeth's anger, in Yuuri's frustration, in the passionate energy that had overtaken the room.

A hand settled firmly onto his shoulder and squeezed it tightly, disrupting his thoughts.

"This will pass, Yuuri," Conrad reassured him.

He didn't know what Conrad was talking about—this thing with Elizabeth or his issues with Wolfram or his mistakes with other women or a little bit of everything—but he nodded as if he understood anyway and mumbled another soft "thanks" before quietly opening the door and entering his room.

It was dark inside but for the last of the fading light from the setting sun and the progressing glow of the rising moon. The windows were open to air out the too-warm room, the curtains fluttering in the evening breeze. It was calm and peaceful and quiet, and Yuuri took a deep breath as he leaned back against the door and closed his eyes to let the tranquility of it wash over him. He knew it was unlikely that it would last. It would all come tumbling down at any moment, as soon as he and Wolfram were forced to face one another again.

When he gained the courage to open his eyes, Yuuri saw Wolfram lying on the bed, evidently sleeping—just as Conrad had said. He was curled up on his side, one arm flung out and the other twisted awkwardly beneath him, with a sheet tangled around his legs. The rest of the blankets had been pushed toward the end of the bed, too thick and stifling to be used in the middle of this weather. Wolfram's pink nightgown had been retired for the season, replaced with various pajama sets that were all equally frilly but thinner and less modest in an attempt to keep him from overheating. Tonight he wore burgundy with pale green bows.

Yuuri stood by the door and watched him for a few moments, both to reassure himself that Wolfram really was asleep, but also to give himself some time to keep his distance and hold off on plowing head first into another set of dramatic disagreements. Wolfram looked… not innocent in sleep, though his lips were slightly parted and his cheeks looked rosy in the moonlight. Wolfram had never been a serene sleeper, and looked guarded even with his eyes closed and his breathing evened out. There was a tension to his body and a worried line between his eyes, like his life was nothing more than another hard-fought battle even in his dreams.

He watched as Wolfram shifted, head tossing along the pillow as one leg kicked out across the mattress. Yuuri waited until Wolfram had settled before finally moving further into the room, watching carefully for any sign that Wolfram might wake as he made his way to the washroom.

He felt no less tense even after he'd secluded himself inside. The guilt continued to tear away at him, turning his stomach around in uncomfortable knots that made him feel sick. He leaned over the basin of water acting as his sink, hands braced on either side of it as he swallowed and shut his eyes again, and tried and failed to pretend as if it would all be okay. He wished it would be, but he didn't see that there was any way Wolfram could possibly overlook this.

Running from it would be a fruitless effort. Yuuri knew that. The more he tried to forget about it, the more he tried to ignore flashes of lips and skin and hands, the more the memory made a space for itself in his mind.

This was so much worse than before. How was he supposed to try to justify it? What did he even have to say for himself?

"Oh, sorry, Wolf. Elizabeth pissed me off so I banged her in one of the rooms at the Great One's Temple" wasn't very likely to get a good reaction, nor would adding "but she sort of reminds me of you, so that's okay, right?"

It was so not okay. It was so far from okay he considered bashing his head against the wall until it was nothing more than a bloody mess, but that would hurt and fail to solve anything, except that he might be dead or otherwise unable to go around dragging other hapless victims into his fucked up love-life.

Only he wasn't even sure it could be called a "love-life" when there wasn't any love anywhere, except from the one person he seemed incapable of accepting it from.

He should bathe, he thought. He should wash away the remnants of his encounter with Elizabeth, but he didn't have the strength to leave the room again and drag himself down the hall toward his private bath. That would only increase his chances of running into Conrad again, or one of his other advisers, and Yuuri wasn't exactly in the mood to talk at the moment. Hiding away would be nice. Locking himself away from people might be what it took to prevent him from doing something stupid again, since he apparently couldn't trust himself to back away on his own.

He should have.

He knew he should have. He'd known it then and he knew it now.

So why hadn't he?

For lack of any other option, Yuuri made do with the water in the basin, rinsing his hands off and splashing water into his face, scrubbing it through his hair and down the back of his neck, where he could still feel the phantom touch of Elizabeth's hands. He unbuttoned his shirt and tore it off, tossed it aside haphazardly, washing as much of the dried sweat from his shoulders and chest as he could. His pants and underwear were last, dropping to the floor in a careless pile as he quickly washed between his legs.

He didn't let his hand linger long, and forced himself to think of things he felt were decidedly unsexy—like Gwendal knitting or Yozak dressed up like a princess—instead of Elizabeth's voice in his ear or her tongue in his mouth or the warmth between her legs or the curve of her breasts pressed against his chest.

He swallowed down as much of the self-loathing as he could and made himself leave the washroom when he was done, wandering naked into the bedroom in search of something to wear to bed.

Wolfram was awake. He was sitting up in bed with one leg dangling over the side, like he was just about to climb off and head to the washroom to check on him. He froze when Yuuri returned on his own, staring through the darkness and shadow. The moonlight cast Wolfram's pale skin in a silvery glow—incandescent, ethereal, and beautiful—the play of shadows on Wolfram's face making his eyes look especially large. There were sleep-lines on his cheek and his hair was mused, but he looked alert for just having been asleep only moments before.

Yuuri stopped on his way to the wardrobe in order to stare back at him. Years ago he might have been embarrassed to have Wolfram watching him so intently while he was in the process of walking around naked. Now the only discomfort he felt came from sickening remorse. He stood and frowned and wished things didn't have to be this way. He was tired of feeling trapped and tired of hurting Wolfram in the process of breaking free.

Of course, one couldn't happen without the other.

He watched the emotions play upon Wolfram's face—first the light flushing in his cheeks, the determination to keep his eyes at an appropriate level, then the concern, a brief flash of something that might have been fear, and then a sort of resignation, like he could read the truth in Yuuri's face and in his stance without either of them having to speak.

It didn't help that Yuuri couldn't seem to quell the guilt long enough to keep it off his face. It must be easy for Wolfram to see it, to draw his own conclusions from the length of his absence and the company he'd only just been a part of.

When Wolfram's mouth curved into glum frown, when his eyes lost their spark and darted away, and Wolfram pulled his leg back onto the bed to rest against the pillows and stare at the top of the canopy, Yuuri was sure he knew.

He didn't want the engagement, Yuuri reminded himself. He didn't want to get married and live whatever dream life Wolfram had been holding onto for the last seven years. He didn't to be shackled down when he didn't even fully know himself, when he barely even knew what he wanted from life, when there were still so many things he was trying to understand.

He wanted freedom, and Wolfram had given him that.

He wanted women, and Wolfram had said he could have them.

He wanted an answer, and Wolfram had given him the time to find it.

So why did Yuuri feel like crying?

He turned back to the wardrobe and took out a fresh pair of underwear and a set of pajamas. He dressed quickly—almost considered going without the pajamas due to the heat. At the last second, he decided to keep the pants but shucked the shirt.

Once dressed, Yuuri took cautious steps toward the bed. He kept his head down most of the way, dragging his feet across the floor and stopping when he came to one of the bedposts at the end of the bed. He fiddled with the tassel that kept the bed curtains open, studied the designs on the blanket neither of them would use until the temperature finally lowered, and then forced himself to look at Wolfram again—when all he wanted to do was curl up into a ball somewhere, maybe waste away there on his own.

His fiancé was still staring at the top of the canopy, but when Yuuri climbed up onto the bed Wolfram turned his head to look at him. His face was cast in the blank mask he'd learned to adopt since Hashimoto, smooth and emotionless. It was the eyes that gave him away. For a moment they burned with fury, sparked with bitterness, and gleamed with hurt and betrayal, but it was gone just as quickly.

It hurt to watch. Yuuri took a ragged breath and released it in a sob.

He settled heavily onto the bed next to Wolfram, on top of the sheet with his face buried into one of the pillows as his chest heaved and his shoulder shook involuntarily.

"I'm so… _so_ sorry," he said. His voice was strained, rough in a throat that was much too tight.

Wolfram didn't move, but he didn't turn his eyes away from him either. "I've told you there's no need to apologize," he said.

_His_ voice was too soft, not quite comforting but also not livid or accusatory.

"I didn't… I didn't mean for it to go this far," Yuuri tried anyway. "I… I don't know what happened."

"You were always interested in Elizabeth," Wolfram replied, too numb and too matter-of-fact.

His need to explain away and excuse Yuuri's behavior only made Yuuri feel worse, because Wolfram of all people should never have to do that. He should smack him again, or set another bed on fire, or turn away and walk out and break the engagement on his own so the world would know which one of them was the honorable one, and which one of them was the fraud.

"I-I'm not," Yuuri denied. "I wasn't… not like… not like this. It was never… I wasn't even… I didn't even think…"

"You don't need to find an excuse, Yuuri," Wolfram told him.

"You're the one making excuses," Yuuri alleged. "You're the one who just… who just _lets_ me, and you don't _say_ anything and you try to make it seem like it's okay."

"It _is_ okay."

"It _isn't_," Yuuri insisted. "None of it is."

Even if Wolfram could convince himself that Hashimoto and Lady Flynn had been reasonable indiscretions, there was no way Yuuri was going to buy that this time when Elizabeth was Wolfram's _best friend_.

Best friends weren't supposed to sleep with one's fiancé, and one's fiancé wasn't supposed to sleep with one's best friend.

It was like Murata sleeping with Wolfram, only that would never happen because Yuuri was pretty sure Murata preferred women (at least in this life; he didn't even want to know about all the others). Even still, Yuuri didn't have to want Wolfram or the engagement to know that he'd be irrationally angry if something like that ever _did _happen.

So how could Wolfram be anything but absolutely disgusted?

"Why do you do this?" Yuuri asked. He turned his head to risk looking at Wolfram through watery eyes, only to find that Wolfram still hadn't looked away, but sat watching him like Yuuri's sudden emotional display confused him.

"Why do I do what?" Wolfram asked in return.

"Why do you let this happen? Why do you sit there like I haven't just done the worst thing imaginable?"

Wolfram's frown was sad. "Because I can think of worse things," he said.

Yuuri laughed a bitter, wet laugh. "Oh, yeah? Like what?"

"Many things," Wolfram answered, shrugging. "Hateful things. Doing something like this and regretting it makes you a better person than if you simply didn't care. You're young and confused, and when I step back and look at all this objectively… I know that there's more to you than one or two mistakes. You're a good king. You're kind and fair. It's obvious how much you care about people. If you didn't, if you were cruel and shameless, or if you sat back and overlooked all the injustices in the world instead of fighting against them… then maybe I could look at you and hate you. All I've ever wanted is for you to be a good king."

"You should want more," Yuuri said.

"Sometimes I do," Wolfram admitted.

"Hate me then."

"It's not up to you to give me what I want, Yuuri."

"But I'm your fiancé," Yuuri argued.

"But it was an accident," Wolfram said. His eyes grew sad. His face fell as if conceding to the truth took the last of his strength. "It would be selfish of me to hold you to it after all the times you've tried to make me see the truth."

"I'm the one who's selfish," Yuuri replied.

"Did you do it to hurt me, Yuuri?" Wolfram asked. "Did you do it out of spite?"

Yuuri shook his head. The motion was partly obstructed by the pillow on one side. "It was never out of spite," he said.

And it wasn't. Yes, he had been bitter and angry at Wolfram for holding on so tightly, for holding him back when all he wanted to do was break free, but Hashimoto had been curiosity, then relief and pleasure, Lady Flynn had been a descent into fantasy, and Elizabeth had been frustration—with himself, with her, and with all the people who didn't understand.

But Wolfram understood. Somehow this prideful brat of a young man understood him like no one else did.

Either that, or he did a very good job of pretending to.

"I'm so tired of this, Wolf," Yuuri said, turning his face back into the pillow to soak up his tears.

"Of what?" Wolfram asked.

"Struggling…"

It had already become too painful. The further along the path he went, the more confused he became, the more he hated himself for not being good enough, for not being as sure as everyone else seemed to be.

Wolfram was quiet for a few seconds, then whispered, "… what can I do for you?"

He could have asked Wolfram for anything in that moment, and Yuuri was sure Wolfram would have done it. Wolfram would have given him all the time and space and patience and freedom that he needed. He would have let the engagement go, he would have taken another step back and loosened the reins even further and still stayed as Yuuri's friend.

But none of that would make Yuuri happy.

It hadn't yet. He feared it never would.

"I don't know…" he said, with another sob and a fresh wave of tears.

He didn't know anything.

**_TBC…_**

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><p><strong>AN: **I have the next part planned out but don't know when I'll get around to writing it, so please don't expect a quick update! You've all been so patient and understanding, and I seriously appreciate it! Whenever I _do_ get the next part done, you can expect a gradual change to Yuuri/Wolfram (perhaps even a kiss!), although I can't promise there won't be at least one more Yuuri/Elizabeth scene. OTL


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Kyou Kara Maou or any of its characters.

**Beta-ed by:** G

**Warnings:** See previous chapters!

**Pairings(s):**

**Setting:** This part spans Yuuri's life from the age of 22 to 23.

**Rating:** M.

**A/N: **Well, it's been over two years. I am so, so, so sorry. orz

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><p><em><strong>The Happy Life<strong>_

by Mikage

**Part Five**

Somehow, despite the abnormal amount of crazy that had made up existence in the Great Demon Kingdom, life had a way of working itself out.

This was especially true when Yuuri sat back and let the universe take control, as if there were some great cosmic power out there and everything that happened in his life was merely a part of its much bigger plan. He hesitated to call this power "God," because even though he'd been raised to appreciate all manner of religious thought (and now he wondered if his parents had done that on purpose in preparation for his life as king), he wasn't quite sure if he believed one over than the other, if it had all mingled together in his brain and become a single, comprehensive doctrine, or if he didn't believe in it at all.

Most days he ended up somewhere in the middle, acknowledging the possibility but refusing to structure his life around a manner of thought that may or may not be true.

But Yuuri did believe in fate. In some ways he even believed in predestination. He supposed he had to now that he knew the truth of his birth. His parents had been chosen for him by the Demon King of Earth. His soul had been carefully cultivated over hundreds of years, going from life to life to life as it was fashioned into the perfect vessel for the Great One's bidding. If it hadn't been for the Great One, Yuuri would not be who he was today. In fact, it was very likely that there would not be a Shibuya Yuuri Harajuku Fuuri at all.

Life was full of choices, yes, but _his_ life was also full of "this is your destiny"s and "it was meant to be"s. He wasn't really sure if this was true for everyone (the only person he knew with a similarly controlled journey of the soul was Murata). It could be that fate or destiny or whatever it was _really_ called liked to pick and choose its instruments from the masses of innocents that were otherwise left wandering around unawares, going about their lives without the cosmic interference known by only the select few.

Yuuri didn't think this made him special. Really he thought it meant he was supremely unlucky, because he could never be completely sure which parts of his life were part of his overall "destiny" and which parts were completely his own doing.

He wished the Great One would have told him, but of course he'd never thought to ask him that when he'd actually had the chance.

"Was I meant to slap Wolfram?"

The Great One's Temple felt tainted now that one of his adulterous transgressions had occurred within it. He could not walk through its halls and corridors or spy it from a distance without remembering Elizabeth, the room and the door and the sights and sounds, with the result that he'd since taken to avoiding the place as much as he could. Where it had once been a sacred and spiritual place, it was now defiled with a frustrated lust and a brazen faithlessness.

Not that it had ever truly been the sort of pure, holy place Yuuri used to like to think it was (Murata had seen to that when he'd taken to bedding the shrine maidens one-by-one), but there was definitely something more wicked about the place now, like the remnants of his coupling with Elizabeth had seeped into the walls and spread throughout the building to cast it in a monstrous shadow—worse than the darkness of the Originators, because this was a much more personal offense compared to the abstract power of hate.

Yet he felt the need to enter nearly a week after the event in question. It wasn't meant to comfort. It wasn't even meant to add to the blame. More than anything the journey was made in search of an answer, one Yuuri feared he would never be fortunate enough to obtain.

His voice echoed off of the thick stone walls of the lowest chamber, sunlight streaming through the glass-bottom fountain centered in the ground high above his head. Tendrils of light refracted through the water and threw undulating patterns along the walls and floor. In front of him was the dais with its collection of wooden boxes—useless now, but reminders of a different time. The End of the Wind, The End of the Earth, and Hellfire in Frozen Land (perhaps the worst of the three, because of what it had taken to open). Only the Mirror at the Bottom of the Sea was gone, broken into fragments by Morgif during the final battle, fragments that had been collected for historical preservation and set on display in another area of the Temple for traveling pilgrims to view.

Six years was a long time. At sixteen, saving the world had seemed like the most difficult trial he would ever have to face. It was certainly the defining moment of his seven-year reign. Everything after it seemed somehow less important, less universally significant.

Living after that, in the shadow of a victory that knew no comparison, was not as easy as one might expect.

Nothing he did for the rest of his life would ever be that momentous again.

"If you're looking for advice, you're not going to find it here," a voice spoke from behind him.

It was not the voice Yuuri had hoped to hear in answer, but he'd known he was being too hopeful. Many things had changed since the boxes had been opened, and some of the things he used to be able to rely on were no longer present.

Yuuri glanced over his shoulder to see Murata strolling toward him, his gait easy and unconcerned. Murata had never been uncomfortable in the Temple. He took to it like a second home, lorded over it like a king in his castle, and the boxes (practically worthless but demanding a certain reverence due to the power they once held) were his throne.

Murata walked right by Yuuri and sat himself on the middle box, as if it were a normal seat and hadn't been responsible for the death of someone they both knew well.

"Problem?" Murata asked with an expression that was open and free and just as careless as his choice of a seat.

"Aren't there always problems?" Yuuri wondered.

"Depends on who you're talking to."

Yuuri frowned, hardly in the mood for evasion and riddles. He was hardly in the mood for anything. The emotional turmoil wasn't quite as tumultuous as it'd been days ago, but he didn't expect the guilt would ever go away. He'd likely carry it around for the rest of his life, another blemish on a soul that had once been pure.

"I think I've got plenty," he said.

"Nah, just one," Murata corrected him with a dismissive wave of one of his hands.

"And are you here to offer some of your great wisdom?" Yuuri mocked, rolling his eyes.

"That _is _my job."

"Sounds like an easy one."

"You'd be surprised," Murata grinned. "Really it depends on who's in charge. You're pretty troublesome. So was he."

The comment ended with Murata jerking his head back to the wall behind him, and Yuuri's gaze wandered up to the crest that once held the Great One's soul.

"He's not here, is he?" Yuuri asked.

"I expect not," Murata said. The lenses of his glasses caught some of the light filtering through the water fountain.

Yuuri wondered if Murata was lying. He suspected he'd never know. Even now that the job was done and the Originators had been vanquished, Murata still kept his secrets. It was probably habit after so many thousands of years. He revealed what needed to be revealed when it was necessary to do so. Everything else he kept to himself.

"We always knew he wouldn't be able to stay forever," Murata continued. "Once you'd destroyed the Originators, it was only a matter of time."

Yuuri didn't think that was true. He didn't _want_ to think it was true. The only reason he was king was because the Great One had made it so. The only reason he'd ever come to this world was because the Great One had brought him. If the Great One had truly gone to someplace from which he could not return, did his absence delegitimize Yuuri's presence here? Did it diminish his worth?

The Great One had come back once before, when all except Murata and Ulrike had thought him dead and gone. Yuuri liked to think there would always be a piece of him in the Temple, whether or not he could be seen or heard or touched.

"He never told me everything, did he?"

"He told you enough," Murata replied. "He told you as much as you needed. The rest is up to you. You're the king now. The kingdom is yours. He holds no claim to it anymore. You're not ruling in his shadow, Shibuya."

"People like to compare me to him," Yuuri pointed out. "It's a lot to live up to."

"He wasn't perfect," Murata said.

"I know."

"In fact, he was pretty damned obnoxious."

"And I'm not?"

"You're less arrogant," Murata told him. "Makes you more tolerable."

Yuuri shifted his eyes from the crest down the length of the wall and focused on Murata, who remained grinning at him.

"Did he plan everything?" Yuuri asked. "Did it all happen like he wanted it to?"

"You're asking about the von Bielefeld thing," Murata observed.

Yuuri didn't think something as serious as that should be classified as a "thing," but he nodded in answer regardless.

"As amusing as he found it, no, he didn't plan that," Murata said with a slow shake of his head.

"Why was it amusing?"

"A lot of things were amusing to him. He was sort of smug about the engagement. Like… of course the perfect soul he created would choose one of his descendants as a spouse. To him it seemed fitting."

"I haven't chosen anything," Yuuri reminded him.

"Not yet," Murata allowed.

"So it's not fate?" Yuuri wondered.

He didn't know what he hoped the answer would be. On one hand, it would be a relief to have some sort of an explanation, to have an excuse or something else to blame other than his curiosity and insensitivity. On the other hand, it seemed so unfair to think that one's entire life had already been planned out for them from beginning to end. What was the point of living if everything you said and did was merely another step in a grander plan?

Yuuri didn't want to follow a predetermined path forever. At some point he wanted to be able to prove that he was more than what he'd been made to be.

"Fate has its limits," Murata said. "If you base your entire life around a concept like fate, it's very likely you'll miss out on a lot you would have been able to experience otherwise. Fate can only do so much. The rest is up to you."

"So not marrying Wolfram won't cause some paradoxical, universe-ending catastrophe?"

Murata released an amused snort. "Not likely. The choice is yours to make."

"Sometimes I wish it wasn't," Yuuri admitted.

Looking back, he wondered if he should have just let Wolfram win their first duel. He wouldn't have proven himself as king, but at least then the engagement might have been over before it'd even begun. Wolfram wouldn't have had any more reason to like him than he had when he'd stood on the stairs looking down his nose at him. Yuuri thought he could have tolerated being hated by Wolfram for longer than he had. Maybe they could have become friends later, without the engagement forcing them together.

Now it was nothing more than a complete mess. He was damned if he broke it and damned if he didn't. He couldn't let it go on forever, but if he were honest with himself he also wasn't quite ready for it to end. It had become such a large part of his life, whether he liked to admit it or not. Wolfram had become an integral part of his existence. Without him, things would have been much different for him. Yuuri thought it might have even been lonely.

It was a simple enough choice under normal circumstances, but all the more difficult thanks to the attachment between them. And there was an attachment of some sort, otherwise he should have been able to come to a decision years ago. Elizabeth had been right about one thing: he didn't need anyone's consent to break the engagement. He could do it on his own. If only he was confident enough. If only there wasn't that worry—that fear that he'd one day come to regret it.

"Murata, were you ever gay?"

The question had come involuntarily. It didn't even register in Yuuri's mind that his mouth was moving until his ears picked up the word "gay" in a voice that definitely sounded like his own. Then his brain caught up with what his mouth was doing and he felt awkward, shifting his weight from one foot to the next as his face grew warm.

Which was totally embarrassing. And also completely unnecessary. The question was a valid one, and he was only talking about _Murata_, who'd never had a problem sharing anything personal with him before.

His friend snorted again and chuckled quietly. "You mean in all of my many lives?" he assumed.

"Er… right," Yuuri agreed. "I mean… obviously you're not gay _now_, but… you know… maybe before…"

Murata shrugged unconcernedly. "A few times," he said.

"Is it weird having those sorts of memories?"

"No weirder than anything else, really. Why?"

"I don't know," Yuuri replied. He frowned and stared at the box Murata had parked his ass on. "I guess because everyone expects me to be."

"I don't think they expect that," Murata told him.

"Well, they sure could have fooled me. Everyone seems to want me to stick with Wolfram. I don't give off any gay vibes, do I?"

For a brief moment he was concerned that the answer was "yes" and he actually paused to consider what he was doing to be giving them off. Then he thought about how ridiculous that was and how he shouldn't be relying on stereotypes in the first place, especially in a world and a society where homosexual relationships were far more common and more easily accepted than they were on Earth.

Murata chuckled again. "The only vibes you give off are the vibes of a guy who doesn't have a clue what he wants."

"That's about right," Yuuri muttered bitterly.

"Besides, they don't want you to marry von Bielefeld because they think you're gay. They want you to marry him because you proposed and never took it back well enough to satisfy them."

"Can't marry him if I don't like him," Yuuri said.

"You like him well enough," Murata argued.

"Yeah, but it's not romantic or sexual at all."

"Could it ever be?" Murata wondered. His brows were quirked like he was interested in the answer, but considering he knew everything about everything, Yuuri didn't know why Murata wouldn't already have all this figured out.

He wanted to say "no," not only because that was the answer he'd been giving all along but because he thought the fact that he'd slept with three women meant it was true. What he ended up saying instead was, "I don't know."

Murata's grin shifted into a smirk.

Yuuri quickly realized what he'd said and backtracked to correct himself. "I mean, I don't think so."

"Why's that?"

"Well… it's just that I can't really have sex with him if I can't even get it up."

"But you've never bothered to really look before, have you?" Murata asked. "So how do you really know?"

"I don't want to look," Yuuri said.

"Why not?"

"Because that's… because I like girls."

"People can like both," Murata said.

"But why do I have to be one of those people?" Yuuri wondered. His voice raised quite suddenly, momentarily hysterical. "I already know that I like girls. I like liking girls. Why does there have to be anything more to it than that?"

"There doesn't," Murata said, shrugging again. "But closing yourself off from the possibility seems a bit counter-productive."

"I can't _make_ myself gay, Murata. I either am or I'm not."

"You're also operating under the assumption that once you know you like one thing, there can't be any way you can also like the other, which is fundamentally wrong. There's plenty of fluidity in sexuality, Shibuya."

"What, so you _want_ me to sex it up with Wolfram?" Yuuri asked. He shifted his weight back to the other foot. In his awkwardness, he suddenly had no idea what to do with his hands and settled for wiping his palms along the legs of his pants before shoving them in his pockets to keep himself from flailing.

"No, I don't care if you sex him up or not," Murata answered, "I just think the easiest way for you to solve your little problem would be for you to make an effort to find out if there's potential for you to actually _have_ an attraction."

Yuuri frowned in response. Wasn't that sort of what Elizabeth had said? "Make an effort"?

"If you really don't know then there can't be any harm in trying," Murata explained. "You'll either find out you've been wrong or find out you've been right. There can't be an easier way of coming to a decision than that."

"That seems just as messy as what I've been doing," Yuuri said.

He could see just as many ways for it to go wrong. After everything, he didn't trust himself to do it right.

"So what more could it hurt?" Murata said.

Yuuri figured Murata had a point—one of the many points Murata had made that Yuuri couldn't disagree with.

"Do you think I'm attractive?" Murata suddenly asked.

Yuuri sputtered and nearly choked on his own spit. "_What_?" he squeaked.

Murata's grin was back in place. "Come on, Shibuya, it's not a hard question. Just take a little look-see."

He didn't want to. Yuuri felt awkward enough as it was just having this conversation. He didn't want to give Murata the chance to make it even worse. Besides, they were both straight. He didn't see much of a point in it.

But it was either answer the question or have Murata tease him about it, and Yuuri wasn't in the mood to be teased when all he wanted was help and advice. He mumbled something unintelligible to himself about dumbass best friends before forcing his eyes to land on Murata and stay there long enough to satisfy him.

He could still see traces of Murata the geeky fifteen year old, but there was more maturity in his features than there'd been when they'd become reacquainted with one another in high school. The structure of his face was a little sharper, though his eyes were still the most prominent feature, both because they were quite large but also because of the glasses that framed them. The glasses themselves were different, too; chic and sophisticated black frames in the place of the huge, round lenses he used to wear. They made him look more adult, less gawkish and more cultured—almost polished, like a proper gentleman (except for the fact that he was the biggest perv Yuuri had ever known).

Murata had a wide, lazy smile that possessed not a trace of innocence, even when he tried to act as if he was. Between the two of them, Yuuri had to say Murata's grin was more rakish, dashing in a way Yuuri wished he were able to emulate. Murata had grown taller than him, too. He almost felt insecure standing next to him. Maybe he always had. Murata was smart and funny and not bad looking at all, a little paler than Yuuri, with his hair just as shaggy as it'd been in youth. Girls seemed to find it easy to like him. The only area Yuuri thought he could win in was fitness. He was more athletic, with muscle from baseball and sword training. Murata was still fairly skinny in comparison.

"I mean, I guess you're okay looking," Yuuri admitted.

"Just okay?" Murata asked, throwing him a suggestive wink as he lounged back on his box of choice. It might have been meant to look seductive if it didn't look absolutely ridiculous.

Yuuri knew his friend was joking, but it bothered him and he shifted his eyes off to the side anyway.

He told himself it was because Murata was being weird and purposefully obnoxious.

"It doesn't get me all hot and bothered, no," Yuuri said.

"That's too bad," Murata joked. "There's probably a few people in the kingdom who'd get off on seeing us together."

"Don't be an idiot."

"I'm not. I'm totally serious."

"Except you're totally into girls."

Murata batted his lashes in an obviously exaggerated fashion. "For you, I could make an exception."

Yuuri sputtered and shifted in place in a nervously uncomfortable sort of wiggle. "Stop that," he demanded.

"Stop what?" Murata asked with faux innocence.

"Stop being weird and making jokes that aren't funny."

"How is it not funny? I think it's hilarious."

"You and me having sex for the enjoyment of a few perverts is _not_ hilarious," Yuuri insisted.

"What if it was for our enjoyment?" Murata teased.

"Jeez, seriously, will you stop it? Now you're just being awkward."

Murata didn't even bother to stifle a laugh. He looked cheerful and wicked. Seconds later he lied back on the box with his legs dangling over the side of it and started filling the chamber with the echoes of his overly exaggerated moans.

Yuuri never wanted to hear him moan like that.

Ever. Again.

"Come on, Shibuya, I'm all ready for it and everything!"

"Murata, if you don't stop, I am going to find a way to hurt you," Yuuri threatened. He tried to frown like he meant it, but he felt so uncomfortable he didn't think he managed to get it across as well as he would have liked.

"Maybe I want to be hurt," Murata countered. "Maybe I like it rough."

"I am not hearing this," Yuuri whined, jerking his hands out of his pockets to cover his ears—as if that would actually do anything more than make him look like a child.

"I bet von Bielefeld likes it rough," Murata continued as if he didn't notice Yuuri's discomfort at all. "You know he gets off on you being crude, right?"

Yuuri didn't want to listen. He didn't want to hear any of this. He definitely didn't want Murata to start talking about Wolfram, because this whole conversation was already awkward enough. He didn't want to give his brain the chance to start providing some unwanted imagery and make it even more so.

The comments made their way through the cover of his hands, though, and he found himself looking back toward his friend despite himself.

"Wait, what? That's not true. How do you know that?"

Murata sat up to level him with a "duh, I know everything" stare.

"He didn't tell you that, did he?" Yuuri hesitated to ask.

"Of course not," Murata said while rolling his eyes. "Von Bielefeld's even less likely to talk to me about the things that get him off than you are to actually read a book."

"Then you're joking," Yuuri guessed.

"Did I say I was joking? He doesn't need to tell me for me to know. It's about as obvious as the fact that Yozak and Lord Weller are totally hot for each other."

"W-What? B-But they're just friends!"

"That's what they _want_ you to think," Murata said. "Seriously, if you ever want to get into von Bielefeld's pants, sidle up real close and say something dirty."

"Thanks but no thanks. He'll just harp at me for being vulgar and inappropriate. You know, like he always does."

"You don't trust me?" Murata asked. His grin returned in full force.

Yuuri didn't want to allow his brain the time to contemplate Murata's revelation or hypothesis or whatever his unnecessary comments inevitably were—Truth? Lies? An over-exaggeration?

Unfortunately the moment he told himself _not_ to think of such things was the exact moment his thoughts tended to turn in that direction, and his subconscious helpfully supplied him with an image of Wolfram's disgruntled face, complete with a flush of pink upon his cheeks and across his nose. If was not, Yuuri concluded, the expression of someone who "got off" on his choice of language, but it was, he had to admit, oddly cute in its discomfort nonetheless, and one of the less worrying expressions Wolfram had in his expansive repertoire, as it tended to accompany an awkward mood that was less anger and more captivating clumsiness.

Wolfram was rarely ever clumsy—though captivating, yes, Yuuri would admit there were times when he was captivated by his fiancé—but when he was off his guard and floundering for his usual surety there was certainly something endearing about him.

It was almost sweet, which was not often a word Yuuri could associate with such a temperamental individual.

He was tempted to try it out, to say something dirty just to see what Wolfram's reaction would be, but he'd already had a book thrown at his head more than once for bringing up inappropriate topics of discussions with his fiancé. The next time Wolfram might actually do some damage.

Deciding it was best to just let that topic go, Yuuri stared at Murata for a long moment, considered him, then said, "No, I don't."

There was a very real possibility Murata was just trying to get him into trouble, because while his friend excelled in giving advice, he also had the habit of exaggerating or understating when it suited his purposes to do so, particularly when he was in the mood to be entertained by the dramatic events of someone else's life.

"Ouch," Murata feigned a wince. "What's with you abusing my ego today?"

Yuuri rolled his eyes but failed to say anything in response, though he was certain Murata's ego, large as it was, could survive whatever abuse he happened to throw at him.

Instead, he turned his gaze back to the crest high up on the wall, and he considered what steps he should take next, or if he should take any at all. Perhaps it _would_ be better to let things play out on their own, or perhaps he should endeavor to take more control and stop leaving things up to fate and chance. It was difficult to say. Without being able to get an accurate view of the future, he had no way of knowing which option would have the best results.

He didn't even know what those "best results" would be. How could he when he didn't even know what he wanted?

He thought he knew sometimes. Occasionally he had little inklings of how he wanted all of this to turn out, but mostly he was still just as confused as he'd been when he'd been sixteen. At the time he hadn't realized he'd _been_ confused, but looking back now he realized just how long he'd been floundering. He had moments of clarity interspersed throughout all the madness, but for the most part his thoughts and feelings were a jumble of questions and sensations he didn't know how to answer or put in an order that made any sense.

All he knew for sure was that Wolfram was there now—through Hashimoto, through Lady Flynn, and now through Elizabeth, Wolfram had been a constant presence, and his being there both exacerbated Yuuri's guilt and filled him with a sense of relief.

Wolfram was closer to him now, perhaps, than he'd ever been, even through the strained conversations and tense silences that made up their days. By all rights sleeping with Elizabeth, whether it had been intentional or not, should have forced Wolfram away. Instead, Yuuri felt connected to him in a way he'd never been before.

It was because Wolfram still saw good in him, he thought. Even after all the terrible things Yuuri had done in the process of growing up and spreading his wings, Wolfram still thought him worthy of his love and loyalty. And if someone like Wolfram, who was prideful and arrogant enough to know better, still saw something worth hanging onto, Yuuri figured it had to be there whether he could see it for himself or not.

"I don't like thinking I don't know who I am," Yuuri said when the silence had stretched on too long.

Murata's grin had faded by this point, and his expression, when Yuuri focused on him again, was more serious than it'd been since he first walked in.

"But isn't that the point of all this?" Murata asked. "_Because_ you don't know?"

Yuuri looked off to the side and shrugged.

Murata copied the quick rise and fall of Yuuri's shoulders, then jumped off of the box to stroll passed him again, heading back for the door.

He slapped Yuuri companionably on the shoulder as he passed by.

"Figure it out, Shibuya."

Yuuri turned to watch him go, face marred by a disgruntled frown.

That was so easy for Murata to say.

It was much harder for Yuuri to put into practice.

* * *

><p>Yuuri began the next step to the process of figuring it out by engaging in a tried and true method that often ended in failure but still allowed him the necessary time to resign himself to the fact that this was what he must do, and commit himself to the knowledge that he would likely not come out of it without a few mishaps and oversights.<p>

That was to say he avoided it altogether, with the result that he spent much more time in his office and pointedly stayed away from his bedchamber or any other place that might put him in close proximity to Wolfram, whose presence had a way of making Yuuri think of things he wasn't entirely sure he wanted to be thinking about—now or ever.

Gwendal was noticeably impressed by Yuuri's renewed dedication to his work.

For a while there Yuuri hadn't felt too guilty about slacking off and avoiding his office, particularly since he'd taken to blaming Gwendal for what he had come to mentally refer to as the Elizabeth Disaster, seeing as Gwendal had refused to help him out when he was in need, which had resulted in Yuuri retreating to the seclusion of the Temple and had opened the door for a private meeting between he and Elizabeth that might have been avoided if he'd felt safe enough to remain at the castle, where the amount of witnesses might have been preventative enough to forestall any possible dalliance.

But after his conversation with Murata, Yuuri's week of lazing in bed feeling sorry for himself came to an end, and he threw himself back into his work with the hope that it would be enough to distract him from any thoughts of Wolfram or Elizabeth or any of his previous sexual encounters and the results thereof.

He was determined that Elizabeth would be the last blunder. He didn't _need_ sex, he told himself. He hadn't needed it before he was sixteen, so there shouldn't be any reason why he should need it now.

Instead, he should strive to be more like Wolfram—sensible, composed, guarded, and chaste.

Unfortunately, he was _not_ Wolfram.

In any case, Yuuri took to his work with a renewed vigor, plowing through his paperwork in record time and impressing Gwendal so much he thought he heard his Chief Advisor mutter a quiet apology that was nearly lost beneath a cough meant to conceal it.

For just a moment, Yuuri felt proud of himself, and he convinced himself that, yes, this was the path he was supposed to be taking, the manner in which he was supposed to be living out his days—training at sunrise, breakfast, a bath, then work, work, work, a break for lunch, more work, afternoon tea, a lecture or two from Gunter, then dinner, then more work again, until finally he went to bed too tired and bleary eyed to consider any possibility of sex with anyone.

Relationships were complicated, he'd learned. Even a life without them, a life of careless one-night-stands, was more trouble that it was worth.

Yuuri was so engrossed in this new work schedule of his that he didn't even realize Elizabeth hadn't left the castle yet.

She barged into his office two weeks after their last encounter, slammed the door with a bang that startled him out of his intense concentration, and marched to a spot in front of his desk that Wolfram had occupied many times before, with a frown on her face and her hands on her hips in a position that was so like Wolfram Yuuri actually had to do a double-take.

"Uh… Elizabeth…" he hesitantly greeted her. He was pleased with himself when he was actually able to look her in the eye. "What… er… what do you want?"

"What did you say to him?" she asked.

"Um… I don't know… what you're talking about…"

"What did you say to Wolfram?" she clarified.

The mention of his fiancé's name brought a sudden flash of work-suppressed guilt, and Yuuri shifted uncomfortably in his chair when his thoughts turned to Wolfram, who he had not seen since he'd left him in bed early that morning.

"Well… today I said 'good morning,' but he was still half asleep, so I don't really think he heard me…"

"Don't be a fool," Elizabeth said. "What did you tell him about us?"

As much as Yuuri would have liked to reply that there was no "us" when it came to the two of them, he opted for a much less contentious answer and went with the truth by saying, "I didn't tell him anything."

"Then he doesn't know?"

"Now who's being a fool?" Yuuri said. "Of course he knows."

"Then why is he acting like nothing's happened?"

Yuuri would have liked to play dumb in order to avoid this entire conversation, maybe frustrate her enough to have her huffing right back out before things grew too uncomfortable, but he knew exactly what she was talking about because it was a method of coping Wolfram had enacted before.

In the two weeks that had passed since that night at the Temple, after Yuuri had returned and cried out his shame, Wolfram hadn't said a single word about it, nor had he ranted or railed or used it against Yuuri in any of their subsequent disagreements. If not for the memories that sat heavy in Yuuri's mind, or the guilt that filled his heart and occasionally rose to darken his otherwise bright days, it would have almost seemed as if it had never happened at all.

He could easily imagine the sort of behavior Elizabeth must be receiving from his fiancé—purposefully polite, Wolfram was likely very careful to act just as he'd acted toward her before, proper, dignified, and grudgingly fond.

"Why don't you ask him?" Yuuri said.

"And risk his temper?" she asked, skeptical.

Yuuri shrugged and attempted to go back to his paperwork lest he lose the battle with his eyes and find himself trying for a few peeks at the ample cleavage exposed by the bodice of Elizabeth's dress.

He was not a perv, he told himself. He was not like Murata, or his older brother. He was perfectly capable of looking a woman in the eye in the manner she deserved. He could be respectful, even to someone he'd slept with in a moment of extreme weakness that he regretted far more than he'd ever regretted Hashimoto or Lady Flynn.

Then again, he couldn't say he'd regretted either of those instances. He felt guilt for them, yes, but regret?

No, not at all. They had happened for a reason. Hashimoto was an exploration and adventure into a part of life he'd never been aware of before, into a form of desire and a manner of expression he'd not allowed himself to feel until then; Lady Flynn had been different, a quick romp into idyllic romance, his first real contact with love—however briefly it might have been.

His mistake with Elizabeth hadn't been like either one of his previous affairs. This was about his inability to come to terms with himself, his fear that he didn't know himself, a staggering sense of inferiority that flared up and broke through all the confidence he'd managed to feel in himself, leaving him as nothing more than another immoral fool in a world already too full of them. It was full of anger, frustration, denial—not toward Elizabeth, but toward himself.

Toward Wolfram, too.

Elizabeth had simply been a convenient outlet, a safe middle-ground between what Hashimoto and Lady Flynn had meant to him, and the prominence Wolfram was gaining over all of them.

The farther Yuuri fell, the higher Wolfram rose until he sat there, perfect and unblemished—flawed, but in Yuuri's eyes the best of them all.

"I've made a terrible mistake," Elizabeth said, hardly deterred by his silence on the matter.

"You and me both," he mumbled back.

Elizabeth circled around his desk to stand by the windows, looking out on the grounds below as sunlight streamed in and caught the blonde strands of her hair, making them shimmer. Yuuri sat rather stiffly in his chair, unnerved by her proximity and confused as to why she'd come in the first place.

Why couldn't she just leave him be? Hadn't she shoved his mistakes in his face enough already?

"People talked of your time with Lady Flynn," she said.

"It was one night," Yuuri told her, not wanting her to get the impression that it had lasted a significant amount of time, despite what any of the rumors might say.

"And it was said you had a mistress on your home-world," she added.

Yuuri rolled his eyes but decided not to make the distinction between "mistress" and "girlfriend." To the people here he supposed it all amounted to the same thing when one considered he was engaged.

"I wanted to know the truth," she said, "and when I knew the truth I couldn't understand why Wolfram hadn't said anything, why he allowed you to do these things, why he stayed with you when it meant sacrificing his pride and putting his reputation at risk."

Had he been able to speak through the obstruction his guilt had caused to rise in his throat, Yuuri would have told her that he didn't understand it either.

There was a part of him, however, that thought he had an idea, but saying "because he loves me, because he sees something better in me than I see in myself" seemed to him to be too boastful and somewhat presumptuous when set against all of his lapses in judgment.

"So I wanted to prove to him… I wanted to show him what kind of man you are," Elizabeth admitted.

"Doing that doesn't make you any better than I am," Yuuri said.

"I know that now."

"You should have just left it alone."

"I thought I was protecting him. I thought, if he only knew how unscrupulous you are…"

"I think he knows what I am better than I do," Yuuri concluded.

In his peripheral vision he saw Elizabeth turn to glance at him, and she quieted for a moment before she turned back to the window. Yuuri didn't know what she was looking at, or if she was looking at anything at all, but not having to look at her while they conversed made the confrontation easier, so he remained in his chair facing his paperwork and let her stay behind him.

"I don't know why I do this," she said. "I always end up hurting him."

It was easier to focus on Elizabeth's actions than to recount his own involvement in each circumstance.

But they were both guilty in both events—years ago, she'd used him to get closer to Wolfram, and he'd used her in the hopes of experiencing a relationship he'd thought would be more "normal." This time she'd used him for many of the same reasons, to open Wolfram's eyes to Yuuri infidelity and maybe, Yuuri thought, to place herself between them. Maybe she hadn't given up on Wolfram after all, and had merely waited for another opportune moment to take back what she'd always thought of as hers.

On Yuuri's part, there'd been desperation, a startling need to find some sort of worth in himself when he was beginning to feel like he had nothing at all to offer anyone.

"Did you think of him?" Elizabeth asked.

"Huh?" Yuuri said, pulled from his thoughts prematurely. He looked over his shoulder to glance at her, but Elizabeth was still staring out the window.

"Did you think of him?" she repeated. "Wolfram. When we were together, did you think of him?"

The answer he wanted to give was "no," but that answer wasn't quite the truth.

With Elizabeth more than with Hashimoto or Lady Flynn, he'd had more opportunities, and more of a need, to think of his fiancé.

Perhaps the event had occurred within the walls of the Great One's Temple, away from the castle, away from his retainers, away from Wolfram's eyes and ears, but a part of Wolfram had still been there with him. Yuuri knew that now, as much as he would have liked to deny it for what it might mean. Wolfram was, perhaps, one of the only things he and Elizabeth had in common. She had been engaged to him, however unintentionally the childhood proposal might have been made, long before Yuuri had come to know him; now Yuuri had taken her place, and he felt as frustrated by that as she must feel.

Once, he had wanted to give Wolfram up to her. Elizabeth had let Wolfram go when that turned out not to be the case, though Yuuri had been unwilling to accept.

Now he wasn't so sure he wanted to give Wolfram up at all, even if it would have been the kinder thing to do under the circumstances.

There was too much there to let go of. This thing with Elizabeth had taught him that.

He'd heard Wolfram's voice beneath her moans, had seen Wolfram's face in her eyes. When he delved into his memories of it, he saw himself and Elizabeth and the door, and Wolfram standing directly between them both.

"Yes," he said.

Yuuri didn't ask if Elizabeth had thought of Wolfram, too. He could barely understand why he had, nor was he too confident of what it meant—the very thought of it scared him. The last thing he needed was to carry around one of Elizabeth's fantasies; his own thoughts concerning Elizabeth and Wolfram were often disturbing enough without compounding them further.

No matter what either of them felt, Wolfram didn't want Elizabeth. Yuuri suspected he never had, but had been too concerned for her feelings to say anything about it until the duel to decide which proposal took supremacy.

The truth of the matter was that Wolfram didn't want anyone—except Yuuri, and that was a reality Yuuri was beginning to accept more and more the longer Wolfram stood by him.

Whether or not Elizabeth knew any of this, Yuuri would never know. He had no idea what she was thinking, how deeply her own guilt flowed within her, or how she intended to go on from this point. She didn't seem all that inclined to tell him, finally turning from the window to pass around his desk, making her way for the door.

"Keep thinking of him," she said.

Yuuri sat quietly and watched her go, and then released a heavy sigh into his paperwork once the door had shut behind her.

Three days later she left for home without another word to Yuuri.

They never spoke of their affair again.

* * *

><p>Following his conversation with Elizabeth, Yuuri thought of Wolfram frequently.<p>

That wasn't to say he'd never thought of Wolfram before—that would be far from the truth—but none of his thoughts had ever been particularly important. While on Earth, he'd wondered from time to time what Wolfram might be up to without him, considering whether he might be training or out on patrols or spending time with Greta, and in the Great Demon Kingdom he'd envied Wolfram the occasional freedoms not allowed to a Demon King busy playing catch-up with previously neglected paperwork. It was just that before, many of his thoughts concerning his fiancé had been in relation to other people, or else as part of a lamentation for the fact that he was stuck seeing to his duties while Wolfram could do as he pleased.

He still had those thoughts from time to time. No recent event had changed that; his mostly one-sided discussion with Elizabeth had simply added to what he'd thought of Wolfram before, so that he often thought of his fiancé for no reason at all—or at least for no reason that he was yet aware of, whether or not there truly was one.

Yuuri could be in the middle of his paperwork and experience a sudden flash of Wolfram's face in his mind, or seated beside his fiancé at dinner and feel an acute need to look in Wolfram's direction. He could be awake at night, plagued by guilt and unable to sleep, and be calmed by Wolfram's presence beside him, already asleep or up in bed reading one of his many books. He could be on Earth, visiting his mother and father and brother, and without a single mention of his fiancé he would think of a time years ago, when Wolfram and the others had accompanied him, and how well Wolfram had gotten along with his family.

He didn't let Wolfram know that he thought of these things. He wasn't sure what good it would do when he had little to no explanation for it, except that Elizabeth had told him to and the guilt made it easy to keep thinking of Wolfram at any time of any day. He didn't talk about it with anyone, though Conrad seemed to realize that something was going on (Yuuri's godfather took to bringing Wolfram up at random, sharing little tidbits of information regarding Wolfram's thoughts and moods, or regaling a few quaint stories of Wolfram's childhood), and Murata never hesitated to offer some of his own advice, even when it was unwanted ("You remember what I told you, right?" he said. "Sidle up close and say something dirty.")

For the most part, Yuuri attempted to borrow a page from Wolfram's book and pretended as if nothing had changed. If he didn't acknowledge the differences, surely everything would settle back into place.

But even he knew, naïve as he often was, that nothing ever happened the way he wanted it to.

That winter, months after the heat of summer had finally vanished, when the trees had lost their autumn colors and stood bare on the castle grounds, Wolfram departed the castle to spend the season at his uncle's Bielefeld estate.

"Is this because of me?" Yuuri asked.

He stood helplessly in the middle of their room, watching a few soldiers and groomsmen take heavy chests of Wolfram's clothes and other belongings out to join the transport that would take Wolfram to Waltorana.

Wolfram seemed unconcerned by the temporary parting. In fact, Yuuri thought his fiancé looked upon it with a sense of relief. He smiled whenever they talked about it, and brought it up so often Yuuri suspected Wolfram was impatient to be on his way.

"Is what because of you?" Wolfram asked, pulling on a heavy coat over his uniform.

"You're leaving," Yuuri said.

"Only until spring."

The reminder caused Yuuri to shift in place, made uncomfortable by a sudden unhappiness he couldn't explain, except that Wolfram was his friend and he didn't like to be without his friends for very long.

And spring seemed very far away.

"Is it because of me?" he asked again.

Wolfram pulled a familiar hat over his hair, bear ears lending a sort of childishness to his already youthful looks. He turned to Yuuri with a frown, propping his hands onto his hips and staring him in the eye.

"It's been a long time since I spent time with my father's kin," he explained. "This visit is about them, not you."

"We saw them a few years ago," Yuuri reminded him. Even now he could not escape the memory of Waltorana's glower, or the attempts of Wolfram's many relatives to extol Wolfram's good qualities in the hopes that Yuuri would put aside all others and finally commit himself to the engagement.

"That visit was more about us than it was about them," Wolfram said, and looked at Yuuri challengingly. "Are you saying I don't have permission to visit my family alone?"

"No," Yuuri said, "that's not what I'm saying. I just…"

Wolfram stood patiently—or as patiently as it was possible for Wolfram to do anything—and gave Yuuri the necessary time to formulate a response.

"The castle's always… really quiet… when you're not around," he finished lamely. "And I guess I just… I don't know… I'll… I mean, it's going to be a while, and I…"

"I'll write to you," Wolfram said.

"Okay…" Yuuri agreed, but it didn't satisfy him at all.

What was a letter compared to all the nights they'd spent in bed beside one another, talking to one another—about marriage, about sex, about wants and needs, about propriety, and about less awkward things, too, like their families, their memories of their parents, their brothers, themselves, or Greta, mutual friends and unshared ones, their allies, history, politics, and other things that could be considered important but between them were less confusing than the aforementioned alternative.

What was a letter compared to having Wolfram there beside him, his presence made solid by proximity and the many conflicting feelings between them?

Would any of that matter in the distance between Blood Pledge Castle and Bielefeld?

"Is something wrong?" Wolfram asked, his expression becoming curious as he finally seemed to realize that Yuuri was not as anxious to see him gone as Wolfram seemed to be to go.

"No," Yuuri said, forcing himself to shake his head and throw on a lopsided smile. "Just… be careful…"

"I'm a trained soldier, Yuuri," Wolfram reminded him.

"I know that," Yuuri replied.

"I can take care of myself."

"I know that."

"I'm not as weak as you often make me out to be," Wolfram said.

"When have I ever—"

Yuuri cut himself off before he could finish the question, as Wolfram met him with a raised eyebrow.

Whatever Wolfram was accusing him of, Yuuri knew he was guilty. He looked at Wolfram differently than he looked at Conrad and Gwendal. Of course he worried about all of his friends, but there was something about Wolfram's older brothers that made them seem… not more capable, because Wolfram certainly knew what he was doing and had proven himself enough times for Yuuri to realize that he wasn't just a pretty face… but Yuuri worried less about two full-grown men than he did for a hot-tempered adolescent who was not always as successful as he might wish at concealing pain or discomfort.

It wasn't something he'd ever really considered before, but now that it was staring Yuuri in the face he knew he had to examine it, follow it deep within himself and find the reason for it, the meaning behind it, because he knew there had to be one.

Wolfram was _different_ somehow. He inspired different feelings and reactions than any of Yuuri's other friends. For a long time Yuuri had gone without bothering to explain it, slapped it with a "because Wolfram's Wolfram" and left it at that, because at the time that was all the explanation his fifteen and sixteen year old self had needed. Now he had the benefit of seven years of experience, and three instances of exposure to sex and various forms of innocent puppy love. It was time to do what he'd been told by both Elizabeth and Murata to do—make an effort, look at Wolfram and face their problems head on rather than confronting them peripherally.

It was time to _figure it out_.

There were numerous explanations he could provide now. It was simply a matter of deciding which one was most true.

Part of his feelings, he knew, stemmed from the fact that Wolfram was young. It didn't matter how capable Wolfram was, or how many times he'd proven himself, or what he said or did to get the point across that he knew what he was doing, Yuuri would always see him the way he'd always seen himself—just a kid in need of guidance trying to take too much onto a set of shoulders that weren't strong enough to hold it yet. Before Murata had come with Yuuri to this world, Wolfram had been the only one Yuuri knew who was roughly his age, and a sort of companionship and understanding had sprouted up between them because of it.

They were two kids muddling through a bunch of adult problems, doing their best to keep their heads above the water with varying degrees of success. Yuuri still felt like a kid even now at twenty-two; when he looked at Wolfram, who looked as if he hadn't aged a day in the last seven years, Yuuri supposed he felt a sort of protectiveness.

Another part of his feelings, Yuuri suspected, stemmed from the fact that Wolfram was pretty.

He felt guilty again in thinking it, because looks shouldn't have anything to do with one's capabilities or worth, but he looked at Wolfram and he didn't see someone who should be out on a battlefield or wielding a sword or exerting himself through grueling physical training, but as someone who should be pampered. Perhaps the clichés were overdone, but they still occasionally plagued Yuuri's immature young mind, and the clichés dictated that someone of Wolfram's beauty shouldn't _have_ to do such unpleasant things; he should be sitting in the castle surrounded by things of equal beauty, basking in the attention and adoration people with his looks would receive on Earth.

And he knew Wolfram had not gone without such coddling. Many people muttered about how spoiled Wolfram was, called him a selfish prince even when he often showed himself to be quite _un_selfish—Gunter in particular, and other courtiers, too, Anissina, Gwendal, people who had known Wolfram far longer than Yuuri had. Wolfram had been indulged as a child, with sweets, with toys, with money, with affection, and his adolescent tantrums were likely due to previous childhood experiences that had ended with the desired results.

But there were other feelings nestled beneath all those superficial concerns, and Yuuri was only now beginning to get real glimpses of them. He wasn't sure if they were a byproduct of his guilt or if they'd been there for a while now; whatever the case, they filled him with a sense of impending loneliness, and he worried, perhaps unnecessarily, for Wolfram's safety and welfare while Wolfram was otherwise absent.

"Do I have permission to leave then?" Wolfram asked, the annoyance in his voice breaking through Yuuri's thoughts, and making Yuuri wonder if Wolfram might have said something he'd missed.

"Why are you asking my permission?" he wondered.

"If the King does not wish me to go then I am obligated to heed those wishes."

"Come on, Wolf, seriously?"

Wolfram's expression was impassive. He stared at Yuuri expectantly, the hands that had been before perched on his hips now cinched across his chest.

Yuuri heaved a sigh and capitulated. "Right," he said, "You can go."

"Thank you," Wolfram said.

"Just be careful, okay?"

Wolfram gave him an odd look, his eyes alight with confusion as his lips pursed primly. After a moment he rolled his eyes and shook his head, stalking passed Yuuri while muttering about "stupid wimps" and "senseless worrying" that did not quite explain the trace of color Yuuri could just see burning the tips of Wolfram's ears.

Yuuri turned to watch his fiancé leave the room.

He wanted to say something else, but had no idea how to put it into words.

Instead, Yuuri stood and let himself absorb the silence and the loneliness that had descended upon the room as soon as Wolfram was no longer in view and his muttering died away down the hall, keenly aware that without him there to nag at him, insult him, and center him in the moments when Yuuri felt the most unbalanced, everything felt wrong.

An emptiness settled somewhere inside of him, and Yuuri was sure that it would remain for the duration of the season, until the day Wolfram stalked back through the door and greeted him with a gruff "didn't you miss me, you wimp?"

With him gone, a piece of Yuuri was missing.

After everything, this was the first time Yuuri had ever felt it so profoundly.

In all of their previous partings, Yuuri had been able to believe that his instinctive reactions had been for Wolfram's sake. When Wolfram was kidnapped, when Wolfram's heart had stopped beating, Yuuri had never let himself believe or even so much as think that he'd done the saving out of anything more than a feeling of friendship, or an obligation to a comrade who likely would have (and _had_) done the same for him. He'd thought of Wolfram's family in those moments, of Greta, how _other people_ would feel if something should happen to prevent Wolfram from coming back.

This time he could only think of himself.

* * *

><p><em>Most Gracious Majesty,<em> the letter began.

It seemed sarcastic. Indeed, the exaggeratedly precise and delicate script in which Wolfram had written his salutations appeared to indicate that he'd meant it that way. The rest of the letter, its tone less mocking and more down-to-business, was written in Wolfram's usual hand—legible, and nothing like Yuuri's jumble of chicken scratch, but somewhat rushed.

Wolfram was not normally one for letters, Yuuri had learned. He thought too much about what to include and grew frustrated with the time it took to write them.

_You will be relieved to learn that the journey to Bielefeld prove uneventful. I arrived some hours ago and have settled in to my rooms here at Bielefeld Castle. Don't expect to hear much news of me, as I doubt little of interest will occur while I'm here. I intend to use my absence from Blood Pledge as an opportunity to relax. I suggest you do the same._

_I bid that you not concern yourself with me overmuch. I am well. I will be well, and I will return._

_Yours,_

_Lord Wolfram von Bielefeld_

Short and succinct. It offered little insight into Wolfram's feelings, offered little in the way of reassurance, and gave Yuuri no sense of comfort.

Even so, he placed the parchment in a letter box for safe keeping.

* * *

><p>Winter passed him by at a pace Yuuri could only describe as torturously slow.<p>

If he'd been impressing Gwendal with his work ethic before, he was now the sole source of Gwendal's impatience and fury. Paperwork sat piled on top of Yuuri's desk for days, and meetings that before would have been met with enthusiasm were no repeatedly postponed. Yuuri found any excuse he needed to refrain from his work—"I'm tired," he tried, or, "I don't feel so well," which resulted in a visit from Gisela to pronounce him in good health, and a final, "it's he holidays, so I should go to Earth and visit my family" that had sounded more whiney than genuinely earnest.

He didn't go to Earth. Instead he remained at Blood Pledge Castle, utterly morose, with nothing to occupy his mind but guilt and worry.

He was overcome by lethargy that neither work nor baseball nor the promise of his mother's curry could cure. When the snows began to fall and Greta tempted him outside to build snowmen and engage in their annual snowball fight, Yuuri's resulting attempts to be cheerful and enjoy himself were half-hearted at best. When Lady Ceil ventured to cheer him up with a succession of parties and banquets attended by some of the most beautiful women in the land, Yuuri couldn't find it in himself to feign interest; he sat sullenly with a cup of wine and wondered what Wolfram was up to in Bielefeld.

"Your Majesty," one lovely young lady would purr.

"King Yuuri~," another would simper.

And Yuuri would respond with bland greetings and a forced smile before excusing himself to take refuge in Conrad's company, or else escape to his room and spend a night tossing and turning in a bed that felt lifeless and cold.

He noticed some weeks into the season the repeated efforts of certain ambitious ladies to garner his attention, but instead of feeling flattered he just felt guilty and weary of the compliments and the interruptions to his dismal solitude.

"What do they want from me?" he asked Conrad one evening, having escaped the banquet hall for some fresh air out on one of the balconies, with Conrad beside him and Hube and Yozak stopping his guests at the door.

"Whatever you see fit to give them, I suppose," Conrad said.

"They want to seduce me," Yuuri surmised.

Years ago he would have felt presumptuous for saying so, but with the recent turn his reputation had taken following the rumors in the wake of Lady Flynn and Elizabeth, he wasn't so naïve as to think they wanted his friendship for friendship's sake. He still wasn't entirely certain what anyone hoped to gain from him by sleeping with him, but he was well aware that it was a method of advancement many people were not against using if it ended up benefiting them in some way.

Conrad looked part amused and part sympathetic as he said, "Unfortunately, it's not an uncommon practice at court."

"They probably expect it to work," Yuuri bitterly observed.

"Will it?" Conrad challenged.

It seemed a very brave thing for him to do when Conrad rarely challenged him over anything—at least not anything that didn't compromise Yuuri's safety.

Yuuri heaved a sigh and leaned heavily against the stone railing, propping himself upright with his arms draped over top of it.

"So this is what people think of me now?" he wondered. "That I'm some oversexed pig?"

"Many people were anxious for your attention before," Conrad gently reminded him, and then added, "However, the outcome of your relationships with Lady Flynn and Lady Elizabeth—"

"_What_ relationships?" Yuuri stopped him to ask, wincing as he did so. It was the first time he and Conrad had ever openly talked about his affairs, and he couldn't help but feel that Conrad might be disappointed in him despite the fact that the only disappointment Conrad had ever shown for either instance had been directed toward Conrad himself.

His godfather had never placed any sort of blame on him, though Yuuri thought he deserved plenty of it.

"With Lady Flynn it was _one_ night. With Elizabeth… less than an hour," he admitted.

"And the young lady on Earth?" Conrad asked.

"A couple of years," Yuuri said.

He hung his head in shame, but when minutes passed without another word from Conrad, Yuuri turned to catch his expression.

Conrad had not moved, standing resolute by Yuuri's side and gazing out into the horizon. Occasionally Yuuri wondered how Conrad must feel about his affairs, aside from the guilt Conrad clearly harbored for not guiding him well enough. Whatever annoyance and dislike Wolfram tried to project when it came to his second brother, and however much importance Conrad had always placed in his duties toward Yuuri, above even that of his own family, Wolfram was still his younger brother, and to see him unhappy must have some sort of an effect on a man who, as a boy, had spent a lot of time caring for and protecting Wolfram as he cared for and protected Yuuri now.

When Yuuri looked into Conrad's face, he thought he saw some of that conflict there, though Conrad never once faced him with reproach.

"Why did you enter into a relationship with the young lady?" he asked instead.

"I don't know," Yuuri said. It was an inadequate answer, he knew, and so he struggled to explain. "I mean, I liked her. We had some things in common, and she was easy to talk to. She didn't ask any awkward questions when I acted weird and… I was always sort of… curious… about what it was like, you know? Having a girlfriend. I liked it. It liked that it meant I was normal. I liked how it made me feel about myself."

"You didn't feel guilty?"

"Sometimes I did," he admitted, "when I came home and Wolfram tried to pretend like he didn't miss me."

"Why continue?"

"Because… I never really thought I was good enough for anyone. I guess I felt sort of… I mean, I didn't feel really good about myself when it came to things like how I looked or what girls thought about me. I know I'm not this ultra-handsome beefcake everyone here makes me out to be. I'm just an average guy, but with Hashimoto… I think it was the first time in my life I ever felt attractive, because she didn't look at me like that. She just looked at me as Yuuri and she liked it anyway."

"You base your worth on your attractiveness to others," Conrad observed.

Yuuri didn't like the way that sounded, but he realized after Conrad said it that it was at least partially true.

"And Lady Flynn?" his godfather prodded, his voice gentle with kindness.

"Lady Flynn was like a dream," Yuuri said. "I always thought she was perfect. You know, she's strong and determined, she loves her people, and she was just so… dignified, but still humble and gentle, too. I could see myself with a woman like that, but then… I mean, she's beautiful. For a while she just felt out of my league. So when we were together and I realized she wanted me, too… I felt good, like I did with Hashimoto, but it was different, too, because by the end of it she was still perfect and I just… wasn't."

"Because you felt guilty," Conrad guessed.

"Yeah," Yuuri agreed. "I hadn't felt that way with Hashimoto."

"Why did experience guilt then and not before?"

"Because I—" Yuuri began, but cut himself off so that he might give a more thoughtful answer.

Why had he?

At the time he'd thought it was because the second affair had been more blatant than the first. His court had certainly known of it, and Wolfram had not been as removed as he'd been when Yuuri had spent time with Hashimoto on Earth. Everything about Lady Flynn had seemed very present and very real, despite the dream-like quality of their union. He knew what he was doing when he slept with her, and he was intensely aware of its effect on other people.

Hashimoto hadn't been like that. He hadn't cared much about other people during his relationship with her because he hadn't needed to.

By the time he slept with Lady Flynn, he was much more conscious of the effect his actions had on others.

At some point he'd grown to care.

"Because by the time I was with Lady Flynn I'd already decided that Wolfram's feelings were important to me," he realized.

"But you still followed through with it," Conrad said.

"Because it felt good," Yuuri told him, "knowing someone like Lady Flynn wanted me."

"And Elizabeth?"

Elizabeth was still something of a conundrum, though Yuuri was drawing closer to a more concrete answer.

"Elizabeth was… she was anger and guilt. Like I was trying to just… get it all out," Yuuri said. "I wanted someone else to be responsible. I wanted someone else to blame so I could stop blaming myself."

"Has it worked?" Conrad asked.

"No," Yuuri said.

"And how do you feel now?"

It was a terrifying question because of its ultimate answer. As much as Yuuri would have liked to, it wasn't an answer he could hide from, not when he'd been searching for it for so long only to find that it'd been staring him in the face.

He was still scared of what it meant, and he was still confused as to how he was supposed to continue from this point, but it was _something_, and after seven years of nothing it was a relief to finally have a clue, small as it was now.

"I miss Wolfram," he said.

He missed Wolfram's presence in his life, he missed him in his room, in his bed, in his every day. He missed the fun they used to have, the trouble they used to get in together, and all the stupid arguments that had made up their lives before all this. He missed Wolfram's jealousy, his possessiveness, because as annoying as it had been at times it was still proof that Wolfram had _wanted_ him, that he was important to Wolfram in a way few other people were, that he _meant_ something to Wolfram, that he might even be _needed_.

No one had ever wanted or needed him that way before—not Hashimoto, not Lady Flynn, not Elizabeth, not any of the men and women that made up his court.

And that scared him, but it didn't make him so uncomfortable anymore.

He _wanted_ Wolfram think of him as someone worthy.

He wanted Wolfram to love him, selfish as that was.

Conrad said nothing in response, just kept staring off toward the houses lining the streets of the capitol, and the little pinpricks of light from windows that from this distance looked as small and flickering as stars.

"And I think… I think I _do_ have feelings for him," Yuuri decided, part resigned and part in awe. "But I… I don't really know what they are. I just know they're different from the way I feel about you… or Murata… or Gwendal… or the way I felt about Hashimoto and Lady Flynn."

"_Is_ it different than that?" Conrad wondered, and there was a quality to his voice that made it seem as if he'd drawn something from Yuuri's halting explanations that Yuuri hadn't been able to see himself.

His godfather finally turned to look at him, his eyes soft and kind, and his smile as warm with love and devotion as it'd always been.

"Is it different," he repeated, "or have you been projecting your feelings for Wolfram onto other people?"

"I don't… understand…" Yuuri said.

Conrad chuckled quietly and lifted a hand to pat Yuuri's shoulder. "Think about it," he said, then left him there to converse with Yozak and Hube about the evening's security.

Yuuri considered him for a while, and though he was tempted to go after him and demand an explanation, seven years had gone a long way to teach him that he couldn't just ask for an answer and expect it to be given so easily.

Sometimes he had to come to the realization himself.

* * *

><p><em>Yuuri,<em>

_Word has reached me that you have been neglecting your duties. I do hope the neglect has not been on my account. I assure you that all is well here. My uncle is and has always been a gracious host and pleasant company. I beseech you to cast your worries aside so that you might see to your duties more efficiently, and strive, as always, to be the king your people deserve._

_I expect to return by the end of March._

_Yours,_

_Wolfram_

Yuuri's thumb caressed Wolfram's chosen closing.

"Yours," he always said.

It was, Yuuri thought, a most appropriate statement.

_**TBC...**_


End file.
